


After Eight Years

by SuperSillyAndDorky06



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Aggression, Bike Sex, Birthday, Domestic Fluff, Dresses, Drug-Induced Sex, Established Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak, F/M, Falling In Love, Felicity Smoak Is His Lobster, Finally Having Unstoppable Sexy Times, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Gen, Happy Drabbles, Home, Light Angst, Marathon Sex, Missing Scene, Multiple Orgasms, Possessive Behavior, Protective Oliver, Rage, Road Trips, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Stair Sex, Stalker From The Past, Unrequited, morning afters, season 5
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-30 12:19:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 39,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3936511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperSillyAndDorky06/pseuds/SuperSillyAndDorky06
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of Post Season 3 Drabbles. Including all Season 4 and Season 5 oneshots.</p><p>NEW : Simmer (5x20 Spec Ficlet)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. After Eight Years

**Author's Note:**

> The one about Oliver’s long-due birthday being celebrated.

He woke up suddenly, his body jerking because of the dream, and immediately turned on his side to seek her warmth, his body already thirsting for the feel of hers. They had been on the road for more than a week, stopping by wherever they wanted, and it had never felt more like home to him. She was his home, his place to be. And he was happy. 

His hands came up to empty air and he suddenly sat up, instincts that had been dormant in him for over a week rising up with a vengeance. The room was dark and vacant and he got down from the bed, naked as he was, and started walking towards the outer room. They were shacked up in the snowy mountains somewhere, he had even lost where they were, in a small two-room cottage, just enjoying, discovering each other. 

He walked into the outer room slowly, his eyes seeking her, finding nothing. The fire was roaring below the mantel, bathing the dark room in its glow, but she was nowhere to be found.

“Felicity?” he called out, unable to understand where she was, his heart slowly starting to pound in his chest as he turned on the spot, looking everywhere. 

“Felicity?” he called out louder, just a hint of frantic seeping into his voice. Where was she? Had something happened while he had been asleep?

“Felicity!” 

He was full out panicking now, running to the bathroom and pushing the door open, unable to find her anywhere, his heart thumping painfully. No. No. No. She had to be alright. 

A sound came from the outer room and he ran back out, adrenaline pumping through his veins, and stopped dead in his tracks, his jaw dropped. The clear wall on the left had been made a screen, and Sara’s face was plastered all over it. She was smiling and looking at the camera, with that small devious grin on her face she used to sport before the island, speaking.

 _“Hey Ollie,”_  she waved slightly, then someone behind the camera fidgeted and readjusted the entire thing, and came back again while he stared in shock. 

_“So, you know how these videos go. We used to have them like crazy before the island, remember? Anyways, just wanted to tell you that you are the best, albeit stubborn, but best man I have ever known. And you deserve happiness more than anyone. I hope you find it. I’m so proud to have you as my friend.” She spoke to someone behind the camera then nodded. “Anyways, not much time left, so happy birthday, big guy! I hope this one doesn’t suck like the last 143 ones.”_

With a wink, she faded from the screen, and he reeled. When? How? But before he could catch up, his mother’s face filled the screen, and his breath hitched at the exasperated look on her face he had though he would never see again. 

 _“Thea, make it quick, I have a meeting… Oh, we’re on?”_  She nodded and smiled at the camera.  _“I remember the day you were born, Oliver. So small and so beautiful. You changed me that day. I was reborn with you. Happy birthday, my beautiful boy. I’m so proud of the man you have become and remember, you’ll never be without me.”_

A tear escaped his eyes as his mouth trembled and he watched, transfixed as the screen shifted to the inside of STAR Labs where Barry was holding the camera, grinning so widely that Oliver felt a smile tug on his lips just watching his excitement. Barry fixed the camera on some stand and came on the screen.  _“So, when I was told to make this for your birthday, I’ll admit I flipped out.”_  He bounced a little and Oliver chuckled.

 _“I used to look up to you long before I knew any of this, before I knew you. And when I did get into the madness that is this world, despite of what anybody would tell me, I knew that you were the strongest man I knew, with the kindest heart.”_  Barry shrugged a little.  _“So, even though we are busy with our own things, I’m so glad I have you to count on, wherever, whenever.”_

Oliver smiled remembering the words Barry had said to him, knowing he was there for him too. Barry continued.  _“You inspire me everyday to fight for what I believe in, to trust myself. I’m so thankful to have you as a friend in my life. Happy birthday, Oliver.”_

With a small nod, he took the camera and shifted it to get Caitlin and Cisco on screen, the latter who was literally bouncing.  _“I still cannot believe I actually know you! This is so freaking cool. Anyways, happy birthday!”_

Caitlin chimed in with her wishes and Ray came on screen behind Cisco.  _“So, I just happened to be here and since everyone is doing this, so am I. Happy birthday, Oliver. I know we have had our differences, but I’m glad to know you. You truly are an inspiring man.”_

Oliver shook his head, still shocked as the screen shifted to Diggle and Lyla, in their living room, holding a squealing Sara. His mouth lifted watching them.

John spoke ruefully.  _“You know how verbal I am about my feelings, Oliver.”_  

A chuckle escaped Oliver before he knew it and he shook his head as John grinned on screen.  _“Yeah, right man. You know. So, I’ll just say this. We have been through some pretty bad shit together, and we will in future too. But we’ll get through man. Because you’re my brother. Happy birthday, Oliver. You deserve to celebrate it more than anyone else.”_

 _“Happy birthday, Oliver,”_  Lyla chimed in.  _“Thank you for bringing Johnny back.”_

And their faces faded away and Detective Lance came up, his gruff face and in his officer’s uniform. Oliver frowned but listened.  _“I know you used to be the bad guy but since you try a better way and Ms. Smoak vouches for you, I know now you are one of the good ones. So happy birthday, Arrow.”_

Laurel came on next with a smile.  _“I know we don’t always see eye-to-eye, but I am proud of the man you have become. Happy birthday, Oliver. I’ve learned a lot from you. Hope you’re having fun.”_

The shot cut out and Oliver leaned back against the wall, his knees weak but eyes fixed, surprised when he saw a scruffier Roy come on screen, smiling the way he used to, and Oliver felt a deep pang go through his chest.

 _“You know, I’m proud to have annoyed you enough to let me get in the team.”_ Oliver chuckled at that, and watched Roy smile.  _“I don’t know where exactly I am going but the one thing I learned from you is how to keep walking, even when everything seems hard. It’s not hard. I’m actually happy. So, thank you, for everything. And happy birthday.”_

There was silence before finally, Thea came one, in the loft, smiling.  _“Heyya, Ollie. I hope you are having a great time just being wherever you are and won’t tell me.”_

She raised her eyebrows pointedly before shaking her head. _“All of us are happy and fine here and I actually found something special for you, for your birthday. I love you so much, Ollie, and you are still the best brother in the world. You’ll always be. Happy birthday! Now wait.”_

She got up and sat down with a tablet, grinning.  _“I’ve connected it so the next thing you watch will be straight from here. Enjoy!”_

There was static before Tommy’s face came on screen and Oliver fell back into the wall, his hand clamping over his mouth at his grinning best friend. He looked so young. 

 _“So,”_ Tommy began, _“Thea told me she was planning something grand for your birthday since you probably only celebrated with wild vegetation on the island. So, this video is to be shown to you before her amazing party, so that you’ll remember it. Ever since I saw you doing that stunt on the monkey bars when we were 4, I have thought you were the coolest person I knew. Well, that changed. I am the coolest person I know.”_

His chuckle made Oliver’s mouth tremble as Tommy continued, looking more serious.  _“Who you are is my best friend, my brother, who came back to me and I have never been more grateful of anything in my life as I was of the day they announced they had found you. I know this violates our code, but I love you man. You are so strong, and so good and I wish you the most happiness in the world. Happy birthday, Ollie! To celebrating life.”_

The screen cut out and Oliver stood on shaking legs, the tears flowing freely now, as the screen came alive one last time with Felicity’s smiling face looking back at him, instantly soothing his frazzled nerves.

 _“Soooo,”_  she began, biting her lip slightly.  _“This idea was actually Tommy’s. Thea showed me the video last year, after Christmas one day, and we got to planning. So she got your mom on the camera and I did Sara. But since, well, Slade happened, it got delayed and I really wanted to do this this year but then shit hit the fan with Ra’s and finally I can! Tommy inspired this, and everyone contributed recently, and I just pieced it all together. So, I hope you enjoyed this. Happy birthday, Oliver!”_

Finally, the projector was turned off and only the firelight illuminated the area. Oliver was too stunned, too touched to even move. He felt her hands come up to his face, wiping his tears and looked sideways to see her luminous, beautiful blue eyes shining up at him, his shirt hanging on her small frame. 

“When?” he managed to utter, his voice hoarse with the emotions.

She smiled softly. “A few days ago. Everyone mailed me the videos and I just compiled it all together. I thought since it’s been eight years that you haven’t…”

She shrugged and bit her lip again. “Happy birthday, Oliver.”

His mouth trembled, staggered by the love this woman held for him, feeling so gifted, so undeserving of every memory she made with him. And she knew him too well, because the next thing he knew, she was pulling him in front of the fire, and removing his shirt from her body, standing naked and so, so beautiful.

She placed a hand on his heart, looking up at him with her wide eyes. “You are the most stubborn, exasperating and controlling man that I know.” A smile lifted her mouth, and he just looked back at her in awe. “You are also the best, most selfless and obviously the most handsome.”

A laugh escaped him at her words and she grinned. “You are beautiful, Oliver, inside out.”

He leaned forward and touched their foreheads together. “I don’t deserve you, Felicity.”

She smiled. “I mostly prove you wrong, Oliver. And I’ll happily spend my life proving you wrong again.”

She pushed up on her tiptoes, pressing her body to his, pulling him closer as she brushed his mouth. “Happy birthday, my love.”

Heart pounding with her nearness, still not used to the freedom he could take with her, the way he could hold her, make love to her, like he had dreamed for so long, he pulled her closer, slanting his mouth more solidly over hers, her endearment still surprising him.

They kissed softly for a few minutes, his emotions moved beyond words and she seemed to understand, pulling back slightly. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, hugging her close, burying his face in her hair. 

She brushed his growing hair with her fingers, just silently holding him while he got his bearings. 

“You are everything, Oliver,” she muttered softly into his neck. “Everything.”

His heart constricted and he gripped her hair, crushing her mouth with his, their bloods heating. Even after having her constantly on every conceivable surface for almost a week, the hunger for her still gnawed at him. He would just be getting used to her and she would do or say something that would stump him again. Only she could turn him into a beast from a mush in a heartbeat. Only she could make him fall in love with her even more every second that she breathed. 

He pulled her down on the rug with him, keeping their mouths locked and their tongues tangled. He had never fathomed, not even a month ago, that he would live to see another birthday, much less to celebrate it. He had never fathomed, not even two weeks ago, that he would be celebrating it with her on a rug in front of a fireplace in a snowed in cottage in a town he did not know the name of. He had never fathomed he would be so content with her, body and soul.

Like so many things about himself, he had forgotten something so simple like his birthday. And moving over her, after eight long, hellish years, he realized it had all been worth it, for this precious gift, for this precious moment, for her reminder of who he was. 

For her.


	2. Contagious Grins (3x23 Oneshot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The missing 3x23 scene. Just had to be written. For _seetheskyaboveus_

 

 

A laugh escaped him even as his eyes filled. 

He could not remember the last time his face had cracked open that wide. He could not remember the last time he had huffed out a chuckle like that. He knew there had never been a time when his heart had felt like it would burst out of his chest, not when he had asked her out on the date, not when she had told him she loved him, not even on their night together. There had always been tomorrow hanging over them. Not today. He was finally free.

He just looked at her in that ridiculous metal suit, bouncing on her toes with so much pride on her face it was the most adorable thing he had ever seen, grinning and biting her lip and and grinning some more and bouncing again. It was contagious. He closed the distance between them, his hand going to the button beside the helmet and pushing it in, seeing her eyes widen as the glass went up.

“How did you…?”

He swallowed her words before she could complete, kissing her with complete abandon, the relief, the joy mingling with their lips. Her hand came up to his arm and she clutched, the metal arm crushing him a little too tightly and he yelped slightly, pulling back.

“Oops,” she muttered, looking thoroughly kissed and thoroughly dazed and giving him that completely dopey smile of hers that made another burst of laughter shoot out from his chest. 

Ra’s was gone. The League was gone. The city was safe. And she had saved him. She had saved him in more ways than she could ever comprehend.

She grinned. “Can we kiss some more? And then we can go back? But definitely more kissing. I didn’t fly just to see you make sex eyes at me.”

He chuckled, holding her face, with the stupid metal in between in his hands before slanting his lips over hers. She opened her mouth immediately and he intensified the kiss, tangling their tongues together, feeling her grin against his lips, the happiness inside him threatening to burst.

He thought for a minute how certifiable they must look to some outsider. A man in a bizarre black costume kissing a woman in a metal suit. His grin widened and he tried to hold her, yet again failing.

“I think Ray is still between us,” she muttered on a laugh and he shook his head, pulling back. 

They started walking back to the PT building, just a block away, in happy silence. In between, almost after every five steps or so, she would pull him down for a small kiss or he would turn her around for one, light kisses, chaste kisses, deep kisses, all kinds that he had dreamed about for months, and they would smile and resume walking, feeling like total idiots but happy idiots. They deserved this after the pain they had been through. This was living. 

They were almost at the door when a thought struck him and he suddenly stopped her.

“Wait, aren’t you afraid of heights?” 

He saw her grin widen at the question as she just shrugged. “I guess I’m just afraid of losing you more.”

His heart stuttered and leaning down, he crushed her mouth to his, feeling thrilled that he could, feeling thrilled that he had the right now, to touch, to kiss, to taste, to devour.

He kisses her in that ridiculous metal suit while standing in the League costume at the door of her ex-boyfriend’s company and the thought made him laugh again. And he understood. There had never been any choice to make, for either of them.

So, he kissed his happiness some more.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say Hi to me on
> 
> TUMBLR : [supersillyanddorky06.tumblr.com](http://supersillyanddorky06.tumblr.com/)  
> TWITTER : [@dorky06](http://twitter.com/Dorky06/)


	3. Riding The Bike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bike Sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this pic.

 

 

Oliver Queen had had his share of risque experiences in his pre-island days. He had slept with countless women he didn’t even remember the faces of anymore, in the oddest of places one could possibly imagine. No, he didn’t do much sleeping. He had fucked, and high-tailed it before the women could cling. But never in his three decades had he ever had sex on his bike. Had never thought of it at all.

But Felicity had thought of it. And she had bowled him over. They had been on the road for a month almost, stopping wherever they wanted, staying in whatever motel or renting whatever cottage, and leaving no surface in any unscathed. After almost a year of celibacy, and not that he was complaining, because once he had realized how truly in love he had been with Felicity, she had been it for him. She had been his happy story. And everyday, she added more happy stories to his life, something he had never thought would be possible one day. Whether she was grinning at him over a french fry or red under him while he tickled her into submission, the peals of her laughter, the crinkle in the corner of her eyes, everything became a memory that soothed his many wounds, eradicating them till he was smiling. He had forgotten how to smile until she taught him. And he fell in love with her more everyday, loving her more than he had ever thought his heart was even capable of.

And his sex life. Phew. His girlfriend was a sex goddess, something he had not realized she had been keeping tightly wrapped under those dresses and glasses. Every surface of every place had been christened by them, even though she had objected to the term when he had said it, reminding him that she was Jewish. Like he could forget. Like he could ever forget anything about her. The way she moaned when he bit the underside of her jaw, or the way her breath hitched when her pushed into her, the way her head tilted back to give him all the access to her glorious neck, the way her fingers mapped his skin before pulling him closer, the way she bit her lip looking right into his eyes, making him almost explode. Yes, his girlfriend was sexier than anyone he had ever met, her highly intelligent, beautiful head on her delicious neck above her selfless heart making him spin everyday. And he wondered how the hell had he stayed away for so long.

The sex was great. They made love sometimes, slow and soft and so tender she cried when she came. They fucked hard sometimes, so raw and wild that it would be over before it started. They just fit. But this was something he had never thought she would be okay with, despite how adventurous and open-minded she was in bed.  

Day before yesterday, he had gotten a text from Thea in the morning.

_‘Take it for a spin. I know you love it.’_

Confused, he had gotten out of bed, leaving a softly snoring, very naked Felicity in bed and pulling on his jeans and t-shirt, walking down to the motel lobby. The woman behind the reception had smiled and pushed forward a white envelope at him after greeting.

Even more confused, he had tore it open and looked inside, pausing. There had been keys. He knew those keys. They had been his bike’s keys. His old bike. The one he had loved because it had been as fast and wild as he had been back then. The one that had been almost an extension of his body, swerving and shifting like he had commanded. He had missed it. And where the hell had Thea gotten her hands on it?

He had run out to the parking, and there it had been, just like he had remembered. He had gone ahead and touched the metal, the leather. It had been under police custody. How had Thea gotten it?

Frankly, he hadn’t cared. He had run back up, a new kind of excitement filling him, and entered to see Felicity already up, looking around searching for him. She had frowned upon seeing him dressed but he had quickly gotten her ready and dragged her down, while she had grumbled, and come to a stop before the bike.

Looking back, he knew that had been the moment that look had entered her eyes, the one she had tried to blink away quickly and climbed behind him, wrapping herself around him tightly as he had taken the bike out for a spin, after so long, and feeling the exhilaration of sharing this with Felicity for the first time. It had surprised him how they had never ridden together, on the bike.

They had been sitting in a diner, eating, and Felicity had been unnaturally speculative when he had asked outright what had been on her mind. She had bitten her lip, in the way he knew that she knew made him hard in an instant and pinned him with her luminous blue eyes behind the glasses.

“I want to do it with you,” she had stated, her voice determined.

He had bitten back a grin and raised an eyebrow. “Here?”

She had shaken her head, cracking her neck, thrusting her chest out deliberately, eyes on him. “On the bike.”

His hand had stopped on the way to his glass and he had looked at her wide-eyed. “On the bike?”

She had huffed, like she did when he was slow on uptakes. “Yes, Oliver. I want you to fuck me, hard and fast, on the bike. I have wanted since I saw you on the bike years ago, to be honest. Have you looked at you on that thing? It’s an aphrodisiac. And now I can have you.”

The air had left his lungs at her admission. And his brain had started up conjuring images of all the possible ways he could have her. “But the public?”

And she had shrugged, waving it aside. “Then park in a kind of private spot. I don’t care. What happened to your sense of adventure, Oliver?”

He had replied by throwing bills on the table, leaving his food untouched and left the diner without looking back. She had followed, with that naughty glint in her eyes that heated his blood, and sat behind him, entwining her arms around him.

And he had driven around, almost to the edge of the town, into some private woods and killed the engine.

He got down now, looking around, scanning the area for any form of life, but all he saw were trees and trees, filtering the little to no moonlight. Turning to her, he saw her sitting there, her legs spread wide, grinding on top of the seat, watching him and his pulse spiked. God, she turned him hard by just breathing. He closed in on her, watching her grind faster on the bike, her mouth opening and eyes glazing slightly as her pleasure mounted, her hips riding his bike like she rode him and fuck, was that a sight.

A part of him wanted to pull her and push into her, knowing how her heat would welcome him home. Another part, the one that was still dominating, was enjoying the show, was enjoying the wave of possession that washed over him watching her flex her hips, rubbing her pelvis and getting the friction she wanted from his bike.

Suddenly, her hand came up and she grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him down, crashing his mouth on hers while grinding harder, soft mewling noises she made against his mouth setting his blood on fire, hardening his cock completely. But he reined it in, letting her drive this show for a while longer. Her tongue touched the tip of his and pulled back before he could deepen the kiss, and he frowned, confused. Then, her tongue came back again, just brushing his again, before pulling back quickly and he got it. The little minx. She was teasing him, knowing how rapidly he was getting closer to the edge.

“Felicity,” he growled against her mouth, knowing already how it aroused her when he used this low voice on her.

She tangled her tongue with his, thrusting her breasts into his bicep and he kissed her back with vigor, letting one drift over her cotton covered mound, swallowing her moan, and pushed his hand inside the waistband of her pants, growling when he found no underwear.

“Fuck, are you trying to kill me?” he muttered, completely undone by how wanton she was, loving that she felt that wanton with him. Only him.

With renewed possessiveness, he delved back into her mouth, his fingers delving into her folds, finding her so, so wet. Her small hand wrapped around his wrist tightly, the other one pulling on his hair as he found her clit and rubbed it furiously, making her hips work faster and faster on the bike. The seat would be wet from her juices by now, and that thought washed another wave of heat into him bloodstream.

She had stopped kissing him, panting against his mouth, chanting his name softly, her hips rotating and pushing off the seat almost, while his fingers rubbed her nub over and over again and finally she exploded in his arms, her breath stuttering, her spine arching and he watched, his eyes trained on her. No matter how many times he saw this, it always hit him in the solar plexus. This woman was all his. Her pleasure, her moans, her screams, all for him.

He let his hand stay there, inside her folds, as she came down, grinning at him, her eyes still filled with so much lust and so much love. Without a word, she pulled his hand out from her pants, swinging her leg over and hopping down.

“So how are we doing this?”

He looked down at her, this woman so full of life and fire, barely even reaching his shoulder, ordering him around. With a wicked grin he could feel coming, he turned her around and pushed her over the bike before she could blink, her sudden yelp at being caught off guard loud and so arousing.

He pulled on her pants, pushing them down her legs and on the ground, and exposed her to his eyes. Every time he saw her, he felt it in his bones, what a gift this was, her trust, her love, her body. He worshiped it. But tonight, she didn’t want him to worship it. She wanted him to ravage it.

“You want it hard and fast, Felicity?” he asked roughly, unzipping his jeans with one hand, pulling himself out while keeping her draped over the bike with the other hand on the small of her back. 

“Yes, Oliver,” she breathed, her voice husky from her orgasm. “Make me scream.”

Well, that was his cue. Knowing already how wet she would be from her orgasm, without wasting anytime, he pushed himself to the hilt in one smooth motion, a cry ripping from her throat at the sudden invasion. He knew she found his size overwhelming, knew that her body took time to adjust to it. But what she didn’t know was how her walls clamping in on him so fucking tightly made him almost leak immediately into her. He was so glad he got to feel her completely on him, that he didn’t have to use condoms, courtesy of her taking pills. Someday, she won’t. Someday, when they were ready, he would fill her up and she would be pregnant.

The thought made him pull back with a loud groan and slam in again, the bike moving under her with the force as she clutched it for purchase. He lifted her right leg up and put it on the foot rest, the angle changing slightly, feeling her muscles clench around his shaft rigorously. He stayed for a moment, hearing both of their heavy breaths and ignored the tingling in the back of his spine. Not yet. He had to make her scream first.

With focus, knowing this was the only thing that worked when he was inside her, he pulled out almost completely before slamming in again, and pulled out again and thrust in again, over and over again, on repeat, like he exercised, feeling his muscles burn and sweat go down his spine but he focused on her pliable body, the way her breasts were pressed against the leather seat, the way her moans were turning into cries and getting louder and louder while he panted and kept pistoning, in and out and in and out and in and out.

He bent his knees, knowing how much she loved this, and thrust upwards and heard her loud incoherent scream as he hit her spot, like he always did. Her back was flushed and he bent over her, biting her shoulder, thrusting upwards, flexing his hips and rotating and moving in and out and nipping her flesh, marking her, while she came unhinged in his arms, her screams so loud now, his name in every scream, as he took her closer and closer to the spot.

“Come for me, Felicity,” he whispered in her ear. His voice undid her, like it always did, and he felt the immediate reaction to his words around his cock, the walls churning and clamping so hard as she came, exploding like the firecracker that she was, that he let go, feeling the tingle at the base of his spine morph into his own explosion, his cock swelling inside her while her muscles quivered around him, before he flooded her, thrusting inside her one last time, stars exploding behind his eyes. 

Yup. The best sex of his life.

The quiet in the area was only broken by their heavy breathing as they came down from the high, and unable to stop himself, he planted small kisses over where he had nipped her. This was another thing he had never had before her. Cuddling. Even without beds or rooms. He liked to feel one with her, feel at home in her, with her, after sex. Because it was simple. It was Felicity.

He pulled out of her, softening, seeing they’d have to take a shower when they went back, and Felicity straightened, pulling up her pants, still messy from both of them. She turned, a huge, dopey grin on her face that pulled up at his lips.

“That good?” he asked softly, pulling her into his body. 

“Oh, you should wait for what else I have planned for this beauty,” she muttered into his chest, happily. 

“What do you mean you have planned?”

She pulled back, wiggling her eyebrows ridiculously. “Who do you think had Thea send it over, Mr. Queen?”

Oliver looked at her stunned and she shrugged. “What? I had fantasies to live out. And this is just getting started.”

Holy fuck. Oliver Queen had just had bike sex. And according to Felicity Smoak, his sex goddess of a girlfriend, the woman he loved more than anything, there was more to come. Pun intended. He was so screwed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say Hi to me on
> 
> TUMBLR : [supersillyanddorky06.tumblr.com](http://supersillyanddorky06.tumblr.com/)  
> TWITTER : [@dorky06](http://twitter.com/Dorky06/)


	4. Riding The Bike - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this picture.

 

Oliver Queen had never been the jealous sort, much to a lot of his previous girlfriend’s chagrin. He had never cared enough to actually feel any sense of possession towards the multitude of women that graced his bed. Before the island, Laurel had tried making him jealous many times, and failed in frustration. Those had been the moments Oliver had questioned whether there had been something wrong with him. And then he had moved on to the next girl. He had even shared them with other guys, never bothered in the least bit.

When he had come back from the island, a changed man, one thing that hadn’t changed had been this. He should have been jealous seeing Laurel with Tommy. He hadn’t even flinched. Slade had loved Shado, and he hadn’t flinched. Sara and Nyssa had been together and he had been nothing but surprised. Till that point in his life, he had believed himself immune to the petty emotion that had been jealousy. He had been wrong.

His first twinge of something close to, but not completely, jealousy had been when Barry Allen had showed up, all smiles and a high IQ and tech talk and Felicity had smiled back and flirted. He had chalked it up to having her attention divided and nothing more. She had proved him wrong again, without even trying, when Ray Palmer had looked her up and down and pursued her like Oliver had once pursued women he had wanted to sleep with, only not to that crazy level. By that point, he had known she had been it for him. He had been completely and irrevocably in love with his beautiful, bottle blond partner and he couldn’t do jack about it. 

But his real taste of jealousy had come up served with heartbreak as the side dish when he had seen her kiss another man, a man who hadn’t been him. Then, at that moment, Oliver had known jealousy. The white hot rage burning in his veins, the need to snatch her away and break the man’s arms for daring to touch her, the need to mark her and possess her had coursed through him like wildfire. He had been jealous. So, so jealous.

And that jealousy, that had eluded him for his entire life, became his very own demon to carry over the next months as he watched the woman he loved, the woman he was supposed to be with, grow closer and closer to another man, a man who perhaps deserved her more than Oliver did. And that had cut him. Sharper than Ra’s blade. 

But it had been his decision. It had been his burden to bear. So, bore it he had and finally, that demon had been chased away. She had become his. For more than a month, her smiles, her laughs, her jokes, her moans, her screams had all been for him. Only for him. 

For days now, the possessive beast in him had been kept under the leash, having her all to himself. But now he felt the beast threatening to escape as he sat on his bike, the very bike he had taken her against so wildly last night.

He was sitting on the bike, watching Felicity inside the store where she had had to buy some stuff for them, in front of the check-out counter. But it wasn’t that which was making his blood boil. No, it was the way the two men behind her were watching her.

He saw with his hand tightening over the helmet in front of him as the men checked out her back, their gazes lingering on her butt, and smirked at each other about it. Inhaling deeply, he controlled the urge to walk over and ram their heads together for even looking at what was only for his eyes. Just his. And he had to keep sitting because if he got up, he knew his control would be out the window. Felicity was a smart woman. She could handle herself and she would not appreciate him interfering like he itched to do.

Repeating that to himself, he saw one of the men step close behind her, so close he was almost touching her, and she stood clueless, counting change. His jaw clenched, his pulse throbbed. One more inch and that man would regret being born.

The fucker’s hand came up to cop a feel and Oliver snapped. He put the helmet on the bike and got up, striding to the store, a woman scampering away from his path. She should. He was not in the mood for civil behavior. He wrenched the door to the store open, and saw Felicity’s head turn, the smile on her face fading at the thunderous look in his eyes as he made his was to her.

He reached her but his hand shot out, taking the man’s wrist in an iron grip and putting just the right pressure, twisting it. The man sunk to his knees with a cry, his eyes widening.

“Oliver!”

He felt Felicity take a hold on his bicep, pulling at him. He looked the man in the eyes, letting him see the monster he kept leashed, and let go, leaving him whimpering in pain.

“Oliver.”

He turned around, taking a hold of her waist, and pulling her outside, ignoring the way she stayed completely silent and just walked with him.

They reached the bike and he got on, feeling her climb behind him and started it, roaring it to life before pulling out of the street, going straight for their spot in the woods, driving with the blood pounding in his ears, his rage still coursing through him.

He felt her slip her arms around him tightly, patting his abdomen as she leaned into him, pressing her cheek against his back, silently asking him to relax. He couldn’t relax. His entire body seemed wound up, all the men who had ever wanted her clashing down upon him at once, his jealousy a live being for the first time. For the first time, he could unleash his jealousy. For the first time, he had the right.

Pulling into the woods, right where they had been last night, he stopped the bike, in broad daylight, and got down, his body tensed, coiled to spring. He turned to see her as she watched him carefully, slightly amused, and the fire burned in his veins. Did she think this was funny? Did she enjoy watching him burn like this?

Knowing it was irrational, but not really caring anymore, he tugged her leg up and over the seat, seating her sideways on the bike, and stepping in between her legs, pulling her right against him.

“I didn’t know jealous you could be so horny,” she teased and he grit his teeth. She was finding this amusing. He was going to make her beg for him. Him. He needed to hear that. Make her say it, over and over again.

“You know what that man was going to do, Felicity? With that ugly hand?” he asked, keeping his voice deliberately casual.

“What?” She raised her eyebrows.  

Oliver let his hands travel over her back, right down to where her ass touched the seat, and palmed her, grinding into her, leaning over to her ear. “He was going to touch what’s mine. Is it mine, Felicity?”

She looked up at him, smiling softly. “Oliver…”

“Tell me,” he demanded.

“That ass is mine,” she said firmly, and his blood inflamed. 

“But who has the right to touch it, Felicity? To nibble, to bite, to make you come while pounding over it? Who?”

Her breathing stuttered at his words and he saw her swallow. “You.”

Triumph reigned over him. He kissed her pulse, grinding harder into her core, hiking her skirt up and over her hips. Her breath left her in a loud whoosh and the shiver that raced her body became evident to him. Those tremors gave him another idea. 

Pulling his head up, slanting it over her mouth, he kissed her softly on her lips, teasing her mouth open, keeping the need to bury himself in her, to claim her, under a tight leash. He let his right hand travel down from her ass, brushing it over her cotton clad core. Why the fuck was she wearing underwear now?

Shoving it aside, he slowly teased her folds, already wet for him, while plunging his tongue into her mouth, her moans spurring him on higher. But he was focused. On her. Keeping that in mind, he let his free hand go to the keys on the bike, turning the ignition on. Felicity pulled back with a shriek, before her eyes closed and it turned into a mewl. The whir of the bike, loud in the silent woods- he could feel it on his fingers as he plunged them inside her, feel the vibrations on her bike travel to her inner muscles, feel them vibrating in need for him as he pumped his fingers in and out of her at a leisurely pace. 

The quick, brutal vibrations of the bike combined with his slow, lazy fingers were driving her over the edge. He watched her face, contorted in that expression of absolute bliss, with her eyes closed and her head thrown back and the long line of her neck exposed as she chewed on her lips, panting, moaning, gripping his shoulders for purchase. He watched her with a clear, focused gaze and felt that savage beast within him pacify a little. Only he was privy to this. Only he knew what she looked like when she came. Only he knew the sounds she made.  _Only him. No one else._

Oliver curled his fingers inside her, pressing his thumb right on her clit, with a lot of force, and she cried out as her orgasm hit. The moment she convulsed on his fingers, grinding against his hand, he pulled it out and entered her in one smooth stroke, burying himself inside her like he had wanted to, right to her trembling hilt, catching her in mid-orgasm. 

The bike hummed under her, whirring like a beast, like a caged beast, like Oliver was feeling, and he found himself in sync with the whir, feeling it right down to his cock where it was sheathed inside her, where she was milking it completely. 

“Oliver…” she murmured breathlessly, and leaned back, trying to angle herself to take him in deeper. 

He looked at her, wanton as she was, only with him, and suddenly hiked her legs up by putting his elbows under her knees, holding her waist to keep her from falling but tilting her back and spreading her wide to him, pushing in way deeper at this angle. 

The moment he sank in completely, his considerable length gloved in her, her breath hitched audibly, and her chest rose faster. 

“Move,” she ordered in a hoarse, sex hazed voice. 

“Say my name,” he grit out harshly, thrusting in hard. 

“Ah,” she cried out, whimpering. “Oliver.”

That’s what he liked. This is what he loved. His name. Her lips. 

He pulled out of her almost completely, slamming back inside, hard. “Again.”

The vibrations from the bike, constant quivers right under her open muscles, with his plunges, were driving her towards another orgasm, this one more intense. 

“Again,” he growled, holding back his own tingles he could feel at the base of his spine, courtesy of the quivering walls and the quivering bike. He could feel the vibrations of the bike on his swollen cock, and though he had never thought it possible, this was really good.

“Oliver,” she moaned out, pulling his face down to hers, attacking his mouth in her wanton need, writhing completely on the whirring vehicle, on his erection, over him. 

He pulled out and slammed in again, and again, and again, building up a bruising pace, a punishing pattern, not for her but for himself, reassuring himself that she was with him, all his, receiving him, accepting him, enlivening him. 

“You’re mine, Felicity,” he growled again, against her mouth, keeping her gaze on his. “Nobody else. Mine.”

She nodded, biting her swollen lips. 

He pistoned his hips, breathing harder. “Tell me,” he ordered. 

“Just yours.”

Her words soothed something raw inside him, something primitive, animalistic, that even he hadn’t been aware of previously. It was soothed. Now he chased it away, let her make him human again. 

Locking their mouths together, he kissed her with everything inside him, licked her lips and flicked her tongue and twined them together, telling her everything he didn’t even know about himself, all the while moving his hips continuously, his pace slower now, more reverent, more worshiping, listening to all the noises she made, little whimpers and mewls in her throat that he swallowed. 

After a while, he stopped moving against all his instincts, his cock throbbing for release, her walls shaking for hers. He stopped moving and moved one hand to the back of her head, holding her against his mouth, while the other held her weight on the bike. He stopped moving and held himself still, held her still, and just let the both of them feel. The bike. 

Oliver was buried inside her and the bike was vibrating under her and he could feel the tremors right around him as her walls trembled in reaction to the humming of the beast under her. He just kissed her mouth, feeling the trembling of the walls increasing around him, her walls alternately clamping and quaking around his cock as her orgasm grew closer, spurring him closer to his own. 

Catching on with the what he was doing, she stilled herself, winding her arms around his neck, pressing into him completely, kissing him with fervor. They kissed. They stayed still. The bike vibrated. Continued vibrating. 

More vibrations. More trembling. Clamping. Moaning. 

Vibrations. Shivering. Shaking. Clenching. Panting. 

Vibrations. Quaking. Milking. Groaning.

More vibrations. And before her could take a breath, she shattered around him, her entire body convulsing, her chest heaving, her walls clamping on his cock, squeezing them so hard he couldn’t stand it any longer and he thrust into her one last time, exploding gloriously, their sounds drowned out against each other, gripping each other, breathing in that inferno together. He filled her completely, feeling that possessiveness raise its head again, feeling sated upon claiming her, feeling sated that she had accepted it, taken it to the throes of her own passion. 

He breathed heavily, burying his face in the crook of her neck, planting soft kisses over her skin, still buried inside her as she slowly came back to earth from that high. She kissed his temple, running her fingers through his hair, breathing harshly against his head and he kept kissing her neck, his semi-hard cock getting harder feeling the minute, but continued trembling in her walls. 

She was his.

And the bike kept vibrating under them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say Hi to me on
> 
> TUMBLR : [supersillyanddorky06.tumblr.com](http://supersillyanddorky06.tumblr.com/)  
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	5. Riding The Bike - Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vaginal balls. Bike vibrations. Multiple orgasms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this picture.

 

Felicity swallowed, biting her lip as she ran in the parking lot, towards the private spot where Oliver parked the bike, waiting for him to come down. Trepidation filled her gut, not because she was scared of him (he tried intimidating her and failed every time to his own frustration) but because this was the first serious fight they had had as a couple. And it was  _bad._  

A really serious fight with both of their daddy issues coming into play. And she regretted ignoring her impulse to walk out for some air as she normally did before she said something that could not be taken back. She had known how bad her temper got at times and she should have left before she had said what she had. The details of the fight were too shameful for her to recount. She was not used to being in the wrong, and watching Oliver take a step back in stunned disbelief had cut her more deeply than anything he could have said. 

And for the first time, he had walked away for air, before he said something unforgivable. Like she had. Damn sensitive daddy issues. He had been gone an hour and she had been pacing their room, remorse already filling her as she hated herself for what she had said in her anger, when she had gotten a text five minutes ago from him, asking her to come to the parking lot. 

She had flown down the stairs and to the lot, running in her flats, her blue sleeveless dress flowing against her thighs, eager to see him, to apologize, to grovel if need be. She had been very wrong and she would be damned if she let this drive a wedge between them, after everything they had been through.   

She stopped short, seeing him standing against the bike, ankles and arms crossed, watching her with a cool gaze, a gaze she had never seen in his eyes. It was cold, calculating. Very unlike her Oliver. She swallowed again, ready to face the music, accepting that she would have to let him get it out of his system. She would let him, any way he would, knowing deep in her bones he would cut his own arm off before he hurt her. 

But his eyes, the icy blue, made her step falter as she reached him. 

She stayed silent, watching him watch her, before he straightened, stepping close to her, his hand going to the back of her neck, tilting her head back, leaning forward. 

“Um,” she began, uncertainly, not knowing how to apologize. “Oliver, about what…”

The breath rushed out of her as his teeth closed on her supernova spot (that’s what she called it since it made her wet in seconds) that Oliver had discovered, right below her ear, his tongue flicking the spot before his teeth bit on it, making her gasp and her tummy flutter, her blood heating and moisture pooling low in her belly. 

“Oliver, we really should…” she tried again, but his hands went boldly under her dress, ripping her panties away before she could blink and shoving the scrap in the back pocket of his jeans, his fingers rubbing her nether lips and finding her wetness, teasing at her entrance, making her even wetter, while his mouth continued its assault on the supernova spot.

He pulled back, his fingers coated with her essence, and picked her up by the waist, sitting her on the bike in her seat. She frowned, not understanding what he was doing. 

“Oliver, what are you…”

Before she could finish, he was spreading her legs apart, his fingers inside her, his eyes not at all heated but rather cool on hers as her breathing got heavier. His silent, controlling behavior was turning her on. Or on-ner, she should say. His fingers pumped in her as his thumb rubbed on her clit, and she started panting, her hands going to his wrist, gripping it, her head lolling back as he drove her closer to an orgasm right there in a public lot but a private spot on the bike. 

She closed her eyes, her mouth parting open just as she felt Oliver’s fingers withdrawing and something cool, metallic against her weeping nether lips. Her eyes flew open and she looked down to see him holding two metallic balls, joined by a thick one centimeter string, right against her. She looked up to find his eyes on hers, his hand paused at her entrance, waiting for her reaction. She glanced at the balls again, and swallowed, biting her lip, a wild side wanting to try this while the other remained a little apprehensive. But this was Oliver. He would never even suggest anything that could hurt her. 

Taking a deep breath, she gave his wrist in her hand a tug and he got the message since for the first time, he took his eyes off her and pushed in the balls, one after the other, the girth of which were not more that him but the cool, metallic feel, heavy inside her, made shivers travel up her spine and her walls reflexively clench on them. 

Once done, Oliver swung on the bike in front of her and she frowned. Was he going to leave her on the precipice, hanging? Was that how he took out his anger? By denying her an orgasm after taking her to the peak?

The thoughts ran through her head, the balls nothing but dead weight in her rapidly cooling body as she wrapped her arms around his muscular torso, his hips wedged between her legs, and he started the bike. 

_Holy. Fuck!_

Felicity’s eyes closed on a loud gasp as the vibrations from the bike jarred the balls inside her, the metal massaging her walls in trembling motion, and her walls responded by clamping on them repeatedly, her blood firing up as she fisted Oliver’s shirt in her hands. 

He pulled out of the lot, the throttle of the engine resonating deep inside her belly, literally, as the balls pulled away from each other at his turn and came right back together when the bike straightened, her breath speeding up as her body grew hotter, her breasts getting heavy and nipples hardening, pressing into his back, the pleasure shooting straight from the tips to her core to her toes. 

Suddenly, Oliver braked and the sudden movement pushed the balls further into her, her body exploding in a mind-blowing orgasm right behind him in full view of anyone who happened to walk past in the dark, cool night, her fingers digging into his abs and clutching onto him for dear life. 

“Oliver,” her mouth trembled as she settled a little more comfortably, needing to speak with him.      

His response was to restart the bike. A loud moan escaped her on its own as the vibrations began again, her used inner muscles laboring around the balls from heaven (or arguably hell) again, the balls themselves pushing away from each other and coming together. As the bike sped up, the vibrations got faster and Felicity cried out, burying her face in his back and holding on for dear life, her thighs shaking, her body trembling with the vibrations as she came again, gloriously, all over the bike seat, panting, moaning, gripping Oliver’s body. 

Her orgasm subsided but the bike did not slow and she understood. Oliver’s catharsis was not denying her orgasms but making her lose her mind by having them, repeatedly, while he did not even touch her. It was cold, but so very hot and she could not hate him for it after what she had said. Plus, if she would trust anyone not to make her fall sideways while having an orgasm marathon on the back on a moving bike, it was Oliver. 

So, she closed her eyes after realizing he was taking them to their spot in the woods, and they still had over 15 minutes to reach. 15 too long minutes. She had come twice in two. She won’t survive that long. 

Gulping, she felt her body, already too ready from two orgasms, go on the precipice for a third, her clit throbbing as it bumped into Oliver’s butt, her shoulders aching from the tension in her arms and her cries getting louder with her pants, drowned out by the sound of the bike. The balls wreaked havoc inside her again and she came brutally, this time screaming his name, wrapping her arms almost completely around him, she was pressed so tight to his back, her spine curving more into him. 

She couldn’t take anymore. The vibrations wouldn’t stop because Oliver didn’t stop the bike and she felt another one on the tail end of the last, her muscles weeping in protest, white stars bursting behind her eyes as she tried to close her legs but couldn’t since his hips had pinned her legs open. She gripped him with her thighs, her inability to move her legs spurring another orgasm, which were coming right after each other, her body in the throes of that inferno, not understanding anything except the man she was clutching onto, her entire body a mass of writhing pleasure and heat and blazing and it was too much. 

Death by orgasm was seeming like a very, very real possibility. 

She had lost the count, her mind blanking as her body buzzed, her body so sensitive that a twitch was making her come, she finally, unable to stand any longer, her mind delirious with pleasure bordering on pain, she bit Oliver on the shoulder, hard, the pleasure-pain sensation overwhelming her. 

This was too much. 

 _Oh lordy_. Too, too much.

Oliver pulled over on the side of the road, and the braking made her inner walls clamp again, making her groan. 

He disentangled her hands, quickly getting down and standing beside her and she felt herself tip sideways, just like she had feared she would, without his support, her body not having an ounce of energy of its own.

She felt Oliver catch her and keep her in place, and she leaned into his neck, smelling his musky scent, calming down her over speeding heart, her chest heaving. 

She felt his hand go down, reaching for the string and he hesitated for a second before pulling the balls out in one go, making her cry out sharply at the sensation, cries that turned to whimpers. 

“I’m so sorry,” she cried into his neck, feeling more emotional than she should have been, but his presence was a soothing balm, so very solid, to her aching, gnawing insides. 

“I shouldn’t have said what I did,” she whimpered again. “I didn’t mean it, and I am so sorry, Oliver. You know that…”

“Felicity.”

For the first time that night, since the fight, he spoke her name, in his soft, Felicity voice. Well, the voice he always (mostly) talked to her in. 

She looked up at him, to see him watching her, but his eyes were the warm, soft eyes she was used to. His Felicity eyes. She missed it. Her mouth trembled and he brushed her hair back. 

“I am sorry too,” he spoke quietly. “This was a little extreme. I shouldn’t have done it.”

“It was not so bad,” she reminded him and he smiled softly. “And you are the only one I would even remotely do that with.”

“I know but am I forgiven?”

“Am I?” she countered, hanging on for his answer. 

His lips twitched and for the first time that night, he leaned in and touched her mouth with his, just pressing their lips together, his scruff tickling the skin around her mouth just like she loved (and had hated when he had shaved for a day; she had never let him shave it all off again). Just a press of his lips and her toes curled in a way more delicious than any number of balls could inspire. Unless they were his balls. 

A giggle left her and she hugged him tightly, feeling her bruised inner muscles slowly relax. 

“Oliver?” she whispered against his mouth.

“Hmm?” he hummed against hers. 

“Take me home,” she murmured, not caring that she was calling the hotel room ‘home’. It was home. As long as he was there.

“Later,” Oliver whispered back. 

And they stayed there for long, long minutes, with him standing holding her close into his body and her face buried into the crook of his neck, holding onto each other after their worst fight till date, holding onto each to each other with her still on the bike. 

She smiled softly. Oliver and his bike were one.

She’d have to send Thea a big present for sending the bike over. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say Hi to me on
> 
> TUMBLR : [supersillyanddorky06.tumblr.com](http://supersillyanddorky06.tumblr.com/)  
> TWITTER : [@dorky06](http://twitter.com/dorky06/)


	6. The Dress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I had two ideas seeing this. So, I am writing them both here.
> 
> Inspired by this picture.

 

 

**NUMBER 1: (This is fluffy)**

It was the damned bet. 

There was no other way Oliver could have stood against the balcony railing with forced tension in his muscles and not ripping that dress off instead. 

It was the damned bet. 

For three days, Oliver had been controlling his urge to push Felicity against the nearest wall and make her scream so hard, she would forget about any bets for a long, long time. For three days, Oliver had been cursing himself for succumbing to her game because he was an idiot for thinking even for a second that he would come out the winner in this one. For three days, Oliver had been waiting with bated breath for her to break the bet and touch him. 

She hadn’t. But oh boy, had she tempted him, the little vixen. 

Flaunting the raunchiest lingerie while sleeping beside him, making him repeat the “look but don’t touch” mantra that had been his aesthetic for three years over and over again. But it was harder. Because he had touched. And yet, he had been foolish enough to take the bet and be cocky about it, cocky about the fact that she would break first and touch him. So far, the three days had been pure torture, and he did not use the word lightly. 

It was the damned bet. 

The reason he was standing against the balcony wall, imagining what he would like to do to her and not actually doing it. He knew in his head where he would touch her, how he would lave every inch of exposed skin with his tongue and mark her with his teeth for the three horrible days. For three days, he had used his body shamelessly to lull her into touching him. But he had forgotten how used she had been to only ogling him before. He had always been the one to actually give in to the urge and touch her somewhere. Stupid him. 

The game had been interesting only till the first day. The moment he had realized that night that she had been serious about the bet, the fun had gone out. Stupid, stubborn him. 

But for some reason, he had not reacted to the lingerie or the flimsy towels the way he was reacting to the dress. It did not show skin the way some of her other tempting dresses did, but it gave him the peek of enough to make his hands itch. 

It was the white of innocence. But it was a dress for sin. 

And, boy, did he want to sin. After three long, hard days, literally hard days, he was done. Watching her hair blow in the wind and the skin of her back glowing in the muted sunlight, watching the little nooks and crannies, just that hint of heaven, exposed by the teasing dress, he was so, so fucking  _done._

He crossed the distance between them in silent steps and stood behind her as she watched the open ocean, like a goddess of the sea, and raised his hand, trailing his index finger over her exposed spine. He heard her breath hitch and felt the small tremor that wracked her body just from that small touch, and he realized that touching her was not giving up anything. She was the one who gave him, so, so abundantly. 

He brushed her hair away over one shoulder, exposing her nape and planted small kisses over the skin, feeling the shivers very, very clearly now. 

“Oliver…”

Her voice carried over the wind to him and suddenly, he picked her up by the waist and pushed her against the balcony wall, glaring down at her at her breasts heaved right against him. 

“You ever make a bet like that again, Felicity, and I swear…”

“I know,” she said silently, pressing herself into him, arching her spine to get closer and Oliver shuddered out a breath, his hand gripping the back of her head and tilting her head up forcefully as he attacked her mouth, like he had wanted to so many times in three days. He let his free hand roam over the dress, feeling the fabric catch on his callouses while tasting her, hard and thorough, swallowing her moans. God, he’d missed those moans. 

Finding the zipper, he pulled it down over her back and pushed the barely-there straps away, the dress pooling at her feet and pulled back to look at her, her swollen thoroughly-kissed lips, her flushed skin, to take her in, hold her because she was his and she damn well should know it. 

Had it been any other piece of clothing, he would have ripped it to shreds in a heartbeat. He had done so previously on many occasions to her annoyance. But for some reason, this dress got to him. 

And because she knew him too well, she smirked, her blue eyes glinting mischievously. “It was the dress, wasn’t it?”

He growled, pressing her into the wall and wrapping her legs around his waist, occupying her mouth with his lips before she could say anything else, and pulling his zipper down. 

Fuck it. 

It was the damned bet and he was going to fuck any other crazy bets out of her head over and over and over again till she was nothing but writhing limbs and sounds. He had three days to make up for. 

Damned dress.  

* * *

**NUMBER 2: (This is very mildly angsty)**

Despite of all the years away, Oliver, even now, did not like the sea. 

When Felicity had suggested they go to the coast, the happiness in her eyes had made him quench the bubble of discomfort welling inside him and he had nodded, not wanting to do anything to diminish that light. She had jumped and grinned and gone on and on about how she had never seen the beach in her entire life and ‘Minefield Island’ did not count and how she had always wanted to and now that she had him, it was absolutely perfect. 

Oliver had genuinely smiled at her enthusiasm. How could he not? She was happiness personified, something he had never thought he would ever be able to see, much less have. But he did. 

So, they had gone to the coast and it had been only one day, and no matter how much he tried, Oliver could not deny that it did not sit well with him. The sky was too open, the thunder too close, the sea too far wide. It made him feel captive again. 

He probably made it a little obvious last night when the thunder had made him flip Felicity over and take her hard and fast, losing himself inside her, inside her safety, at least for a while. He remembered the surprise in her eyes right before pleasure had taken over, the way she had held him quietly afterwards. 

He closed his eyes before opening them, sitting on the chair in the balcony, looking out at the postcard blue sea he had come to hate.

He felt her, before her heard her walk out towards him and saw her walk to the edge. He blinked at her in surprise, at the dress she wore, and a small smile twitched his lips before he could stop it. Only Felicity could wear an almost see-through dress like this and still make it nothing but innocent. And only she could wear a white, innocent dress like this and give him dirty thoughts. He looked the dress up and down, unsure of how to classify it, then settled back in his chair, just enjoying the way the skirt swirled around her legs in the wind and the way her hair blew, exposing almost her entire back to his ever-hungry gaze. God, she was fucking beautiful.

She turned to him then, and came right over to where he sat, seating herself on his lap comfortably, the dress pooling over their legs in a sensuous manner that made his pulse spike, and looping her arms around his neck. 

He saw her blue eyes, so much more beautiful than the sea, search his before she spoke. 

“You like the dress?” she asked quietly.

Oliver felt himself smile. “I love the dress,” he said honestly.

“And I love you,” she stated, looking deep, deep into his eyes and Oliver felt his breath hitch like every other time she said it. 

She kissed him softly before pulling back and giving him a stern look over her glasses. “I love you for doing this for me, Oliver, but we are leaving tonight.”

Oliver closed his eyes. “We don’t have to, Felicity.”

She rolled her eyes. “Not that I mind you fucking me like a man possessed, because it’s fantastic, but you can do that somewhere else. We are leaving. It’s final.”

Oliver gazed up at her, feeling his heart swell with a kind of love he had never thought himself capable of, and nodded. “Okay.”

She grinned then, rolling her hips suggestively. “So, what are you going to do about this dress?”

He chuckled, but got up, with her in her arms, and carried her inside. 

The dress was beautiful, but it would look better off of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my other works if you liked this. 
> 
> Come say Hi to me on
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	7. The Photograph

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the very awesome thethornyrant. Thanks so much for this prompt. 
> 
> Again, I had two idea seeing this so I am writing them both down. I hope you like it. 
> 
> A smuttier version of this will also be coming :)

 

* * *

**_NUMBER 1_ **

 

Felicity stood on her toes, trying to hang the frame on the wall in her bedroom. Their bedroom. And even after months of being together, butterflies still assaulted her tummy every time she thought of them as, well,  _them._  

She somehow got the hook on the nail and fell back on her feet, adjusting the frame. Once done, she brushed her hand over it, wiping away any dust, and a smile lifted her lips, her hand continuing to brush the photo. 

It was a photo of firsts. 

It had been the first time she had gone hiking. She  _never_  went hiking, mainly for two reasons. One- she hated heights. And two- she was not really a hiking person by any stretch of the imagination. But when she had looked out at the woods from their cabin, the urge, for the first time in her life, to explore had come over her. That also might have been aided by the fact that her boyfriend was super capable where anything physical was concerned. 

She flushed slightly at her own thoughts, which never strayed far from the gutter where he was concerned, but brushed a finger over his face. Something deep ached inside her looking at him. She had never thought she’d ever see Oliver smile with nothing but pure joy, unburdened by the shadows that never strayed too far from him. She had accepted those shadows a long time ago, accepted that this man loved her with a purity that was untainted by anything. 

But seeing his face, smiling and so, so relaxed had been something of a dream. That smile had not left his face for months. 

They had clicked lots of pictures on the entire trip, mostly selfies and mostly by her. 

But that day, after hiking for hours and snatching quick kisses in between, had been the first time Oliver had said he wanted a picture of them. She had blinked in surprise a second before calling over a college student from the group that had been camping there and handing him the camera and going on her tows, still barely able to reach his shoulder and let the camera see everything in her heart- the pure ecstasy that came by being with this man- and she had felt Oliver’s hand go under her tank top, right on her bare skin, but not sexually or possessively (though he pulled of both like he had invented them). His hand was just there, hidden behind the camera, something that only the two of them were privy to.  

This was their first picture taken as a couple by someone else. 

And something had happened that day- changed infinitesimally. She was unable to pinpoint what but she had felt it in her bones. Oliver had somehow lightened, like a few of those shadows had been expelled from his mind.  

They had thanked the student and Oliver had pulled her by the hand, leading her somewhere with the sky darkening, and he had made a tent in the clearing and made slow, soft love to her under the stars, so light yet so heavy with poignancy that her heart pounded just thinking about it. 

She felt arms wrap around her from behind and smiled, feeling his lips press into her hair. 

Oliver just looked at the photo silently with her, pressing kisses into her neck and she sighed, keeping her eyes on the smile on his face and joy in his eyes, frozen forever, all for her. 

Their wall had space for a billion of those.

* * *

 

_**NUMBER 2** _

 

Oliver hated the hiking. 

But he couldn’t tell Felicity that, not when, even after being afraid of heights, she had turned to him with that trust in her eyes and told him to take her hiking. She trusted him to keep her fears at bay and he’d be damned if he let his get in the way of that. 

So, he had dressed in boots and cargo pants and told her to dress too. And she had come out, in jeans and boots but a tank top and some kind of a colorful poncho, no glasses or make-up, almost bouncing on her toes and Oliver had shaken his head in amusement. Only she would dress like a bohemian and go hiking. 

But they had left, with him carrying the rucksack and her swinging the camera which she had looped around her wrist, the camera that held a billion of their selfies. Oliver had hated cameras too- growing up with pictures used as weapons by the paparazzi- but pictures with her were only theirs, only memories she captured. He admitted he did it mainly for the smile she gave every time. And though he did not hate cameras anymore, he was not particularly fond of them either. 

But hiking was a different level of hate. And fear. 

Every single step he had taken, it had not mattered that the environment was nothing like the island. His mind had painfully reminded him of the muscles that had burned away as he ran, the pangs in his stomach from hunger of days but him ignoring it for his life on the line. His mind had reminded him of the breaths that had never become enough but how he had never stopped for fear of death. 

Oliver had just closed his eyes, trying to blink away the clenching of his stomach and the hammering of his heart when Felicity’s voice had penetrated his tortured haze or her hand would touch his arm. She had never even become aware of what she had done, multiple times throughout the hike, as she went on talking or holding his hand or snapping pictures or pulling him down for a kiss. 

Oliver had focused on her, and not the hike or his muscles. He had focused on her voice, focused on the way she had described everything around them, with snippy comments or awed remarks, focused on the sensation on her small hand in his, focused on her excitement of having her first hike with him. 

By the time they had reached the end of the trail, she had been flushed and completely adorable. And looking at her, realizing he had hiked with her without letting any of his tormented past catch up, for the first time since he had been back, Oliver had wanted to capture a moment for eternity. 

He had seen the surprise on her face at the wish but she had hurriedly called someone from a camp and given him the camera. And facing it, as Felicity let go of his hands and posed happily, Oliver had sought her skin exposed under the poncho, letting the now-familiar softness ground him, he had let go. 

And now, after months of having that picture taken and getting a lot more clicked since, as he held her in his arms and kissed her head, watching them in that picture that she had just hung up on their bedroom wall, Oliver inhaled her scent and let her ground him even more, realizing something all over again.

She had trusted him that day to keep her fears at bay, never realizing how much she kept his away just by being. 

He kissed her neck, pulling her to the bed, letting that moment of pure happiness months ago have its place on their wall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	8. Tempered (In Which Oliver Loses It)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A stalker from Felicity's past. Oliver loses it.

 

* * *

 

 

It was the lacrosse player from her college. 

The one who used to stalk her. 

She had bumped into him again one day while leaving the office, and he had loomed over her, bigger, burlier than she had remembered, and the unhealthy obsession he had had with her had flared even brighter. 

For almost five days, Felicity had been aware of the guy following her around but she hadn’t called the cops yet, thinking it would go away like last time, in a few days. It didn’t. It escalated. 

On the fifth day, she met Oliver for dinner at a Chinese place, nervous and antsy because of the car she had seen tailing her. Oliver had been out of town for the last few days, something which had not helped in her growing anxiety in the house, all alone. But she hadn’t wanted to worry him, knowing he would drop everything in a second and return if he even got a hint of what was going on. So, she had kept quiet and last night’s reunion had been too thoroughly distracting for her to tell him anything anyways.

He smiled her upon seeing her like he always did and pressed a soft kiss to her lips for a few seconds, suddenly pulling back, searching her face. She didn’t know what had given her away, whether it had been the way she had pulled him closer to feel that safety he always represented or whether it had been the distracted way she had kissed him back. But one second his mouth had been on hers and the next he was frowning down at her, his hands rubbing her arms soothingly.

Looking up at those concerned blue eyes, she told him. Told him about that time in college and how the guy had just backed off after harassing her for a while, and how he had seen her again and the obsession had returned and how he had been following her for the last few days. She kept talking, telling him everything, and saw his eyes harden with each word, the rage he felt tensing his entire body, his muscles coiled for action like he had a bow and arrow notched right there. 

She saw him inhale deeply as he got his anger under control, and then changed the subject, telling her of his trip and his meeting with Thea and they enjoyed the dinner, teasing and laughing. 

They walked out of the restaurant after a while, and she knew Oliver’s mind, for all the smiles and teasing, was still on the stalker guy. He pulled her close to his side, scanning the street, his body still with awareness when suddenly, the guy emerged from the shadows. Oliver pushed her behind him and took a step closer to her stalker, who had come out of the darkness to block their path. 

The stalker looked at her and Oliver put a hand on his shoulder, his posture so cold and voice so lethal that she felt a shiver go down her veins. 

“Back off, right now.”

The threat in his voice was clear, the threat in his body even more so. The stalker looked angrily between them, a bit bigger than Oliver in size, which she knew from years of experience was nothing. If it came down to it, Oliver could crush multiple men that size in seconds. 

The stalker stepped back, his eyes on Felicity, and smirked. Then he started speaking. Crude words. About her and her anatomy. Words that made her blood boil and Oliver’s body still even more. That was the only reason she wasn’t punching the guy. If she lost it, Oliver would too. 

_“Get the fuck out of here if you want to keep breathing.”_

Oliver’s low, harsh voice told her exactly how close to the edge he was. Very. She knew that anyone slandering Thea or her pushed him to the edge like nothing else. And the guy just wasn’t quitting. 

And then, he looked at Felicity with lecherous eyes and started speaking of the things he’d like to do to her, of how he’d truss her up and fuck her, in much cruder terms. Felicity stilled and saw Oliver’s back stiffen impossibly more and closed her eyes, knowing there wouldn’t be any stopping him now, at least not from getting in a few hits. To be honest, she didn’t even want to. 

The guy kept talking. 

Oliver snapped. 

He was on the guy before she could blink, shoving him to the ground and punching his face repeatedly, the raw, brutal grunts from his throat so furious it stunned her. Felicity had always known the power in his muscles that he kept contained under strict control, even when he fought in green, but this was something else entirely. 

There was no control. Oliver had unleashed all his strength on the guy, who fought back, but was no match for her boyfriend. 

She heard three guards from the restaurant rush forward and pull Oliver off the bleeding, almost unconscious guy. She saw the way Oliver struggled, completely out of control, pushing forward to get back to him, saw how the three men were having a hard time restraining him, how his eyes had a madness she had rarely seen before, how his heaving chest was still rumbling with enraged noises, how he was ready to tear the guy apart, limb by limb. 

Felicity saw it all.  

Then she stepped forward, to stand right in front of him and put a hand on his chest. He started struggling like it was a random hand just as his eyes fell upon her. She saw the hot, pulsing blue stare at her for a few seconds, felt his thundering heart under her palm, felt the vibrating need for action thrumming through his body. 

Then she felt him calm. He kept his eyes on hers and stopped struggling, his breaths becoming cooler, the rage in his eyes slowly getting under his control, as he just looked at her. 

The guards breathed sighs of relief and left with a grateful look at her, and she took Oliver’s face in her hands, smiling up at him. 

“My hero,” she whispered and saw his lips twitch, just like they always did, and he pressed his forehead to hers, pulling her closer to his still angry body, still breathing heavily. 

He pressed a kiss to her lips, opening her mouth to his tongue, the adrenaline inside him switching direction perhaps. But she felt the hunger, the need for release in that kiss, and kissed him back, pulling him towards the car. 

He pulled back, his heated eyes telling her exactly what he intended to do tonight, telling her how rough he was going to be, telling her he was going to lose that control again, with her. 

She saw it all, and whispered against his mouth, her own excitement running through her veins. “Take me home.”

He took her home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my other works if you liked this. 
> 
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	9. Tempered - Part 2 (In Which Oliver Loses It With Felicity On The Stairs)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Oliver Loses It With Felicity On The Stairs. Rough sex. After the fight.

* * *

 

 

He could still feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins, burning like wildfire, spreading from deep in his gut to his limbs and everywhere in between. He could still feel the beast he kept on a tight leash breaking out like a possessed creature with only rage. Pure, unadulterated rage. He could still feel the number of hands trying to hold him back as sweat rolled down his spine and breaths burned in his lungs, his entire being focused on only the bleeding man on the alley floor who should have bled some more till there was not a drop left to bleed. 

Oliver had wanted to tear him apart with his bare hands, make him swallow the tongue that had spoken about her like that, make him clench the eyes shut in pain that had dared to undress her with them, make his mind writhe in agony, the mind which had tried to harass her. 

He could still hear the words echoing inside his head. 

Still see the mental images of what he never wanted to see. 

And the fucking adrenaline still burned him as he closed the house door behind him, looking at her small frame. 

Felicity. 

She had always been the one to tame the beast inside him, to make the haze clear, to make him get his leash back. She had done it with a hitch of breath when he had killed the Count, she had done it with a small whisper when Thea had been kidnapped, she had done it with a touch of her hand tonight. 

And fuck, he needed her. He needed to fill her, to find sanity inside her, to have her scream his name while he took her like an animal because that is exactly what he felt like. An animal. An animal ready to stake his claim and mate and claim her over and over again.

He saw her climb the stairs towards the bedroom, knew that she knew he would not be gentle, could not be gentle, tonight. He could not even be in the vicinity of gentle. He could not wait for the bedroom, could not pretend to be civilized now that the doors were closed and it was only them. She had glimpsed at his beast more times than he could count and never backed down. Where he had fire running through his veins, she had an inferno in her soul that made her glow and made her deadly. 

And it aroused him like fuck. 

He stepped behind her and gripped her waist before she could take another step up, biting her ear as he ripped her dress away from her body, ridding her of all fabric, hearing her gasp of surprise and her gasp of pleasure as he roughly grabbed her exquisite breasts, tweaking the already hard nipples, pressing her back into his chest. He had spent countless hours just worshiping her breasts. Tonight, he just wanted to maul them. 

“I won’t be gentle, baby,” he warned her softly, still giving her that one ounce of choice before he completely lost it. 

“You don’t have to,” she panted softly, and he wrapped one arm around her breasts, crushing them against his forearm and let his other hand go straight to her core, his fingers dipping in without prologue, finding her already so fucking wet and so ready. She was always ready, and he loved that about her. 

With a bite on her shoulder that made her shudder, he spread her heeled legs with his foot, bending her over the stairs, spreading her wide open to his hungry gaze and his hungrier mouth, bending forward to taste her like he had a million times, her sweet, tangy taste exploding in his mouth as he let his tongue enter her from behind, over and over and over again, making her keen loudly and bow her back, pushing back against him. 

The words her fucking stalker had spoken simmered in his head. 

Like fuck was anyone else ever tasting her. No one. 

“Hold the railing, Felicity,” he ground out in a rough voice, and saw her respond by gripping the railing on her left with one hand and keeping her balance with the other on the stair in front of her swaying breasts. 

He stood up, unzipping his cargo pants and took himself out, already hard. Settling one leg beside hers on a step and one below, to get his footing, he checked her again with his fingers, finding her wetter than before, and plunged inside in one smooth motion without warning. 

He heard her sharp cry at his sudden invasion, felt her walls welcome him, clamp around him like a vice, felt himself throb deep inside her. 

No one was going to be inside her again like this. No one was even going to think about it. How fucking  _dare_  that asshole?

“Oliver,” he heard her moan and he felt himself vibrate with that anger, that rage still coursing through his veins. Wrapping an arm around her waist to keep her steady and the other on the railing for support, he drew back and thrust back in sharply, then pulled out again and thrust in again, the roughness in the motion completely unpolished, completely basic, his hips rolling on every upward thrust of their own accord, hitting her with each plunge  _hard_ , her loud whimpers only spurring him on as he let his beast take over again. 

She cried out his name, her inner walls squeezing him, milking him hard and fast as he fucked her like the animal he knew he was in that moment, his hard pistoning of his hips making pushing her body forward with the momentum but his hand kept her in place as she pushed back against him, the friction between them spiking the heat higher and higher, the hunger in his gut, the need to possess, her willing responsiveness making him untamed.   

The sounds coming from his throat mingled with the sounds coming from hers, with the sounds of heavy breathing and slapping of skin against skin. Her walls started quivering around him and he put the finger of the hand around her waist right on her clit, rubbing the tiny muscle and thrusting into her harder and faster, the rhythm completely lost in nothing but the motion. Her back arched and she screamed his name, coming like a live wire cackling around his cock and he was far from done, the need, the hunger inside him for that release far from sated. 

And they both knew this was not about pleasure. This was about possession. His. And while Felicity usually did not tolerate his possessive behavior, he knew he had surprised her tonight, he knew a part of her thrilled when he got like this, he knew she loved being with him like this, because of her complete trust in him. And while he knew all that, he did not care about it for now. 

Pulling out of her as her orgasm subsided, he straightened her and pushed her into the wall beside the stairs, picking her up with her legs over his arms and spreading her completely open. He buried himself to the hilt again and started fucking her into her wall, seeing the way her eyes closed and her head tilted back into it, seeing the way her breasts thrust upwards, swaying with every hit of his cock inside her, seeing the way her mouth opened in small cries as she clamped around him again and again. 

No one else would see her like this again. No one but him. And anyone who even fucking thought about it was going to die, painfully, heroism be damned. 

“Mine. Just fucking mine,” he heard himself growl against her lips and saw her eyes open, darkened, heated, sensuous, pulling him in  even more, and he pushed his tongue in her mouth, taking everything she was giving, his hips scissoring in and out of her at a crazy pace now as he exorcised the adrenaline from his system, the words from his mind, the rage from his blood. He exorcised it all and she let him, pulling him closer, moaning around his tongue, giving him push for push and bite for bite. 

He felt her come around him again and a primitive pleasure filled him because he was the one who was inside her and he was the one making her explode in his arms with his name on her lips and he was going to be the only one doing it. 

Biting her on her neck, he let her scream his name again, feeling the tingling at the base of his spine and her walls clenching and clamping and squeezing him repeatedly, and on his third thrust, he felt his own orgasm crush him, filling her deep inside with his hot seed, claiming her in the most basic way possible, crushing her breasts to his chest and her mouth to his, still moving his hips till her walls sucked him dry, his hardness leaving him, along with the rage and the adrenaline. 

He breathed heavily as he came down from the high, not just of the sex but of the fight, of everything, and felt her fingers sifting through his hair, her languid, lithe limbs wrapped around him as he remained inside her, semi-hard. 

He pulled his head back and saw her smile slightly. “Feeling better?”

He was. And the more he cooled down, the more he marveled at how she handled him at his worst. 

“Thank you,” he spoke gruffly, controlling his breathing. 

She smiled a bit more, her eyes twinkling. “It was kind of hot, to be honest.”

“It was?” he asked surprised.

She nodded, biting her lip. “As much as I loved the stairs, I’d really like to have a bed behind my back now. Can we go to the bedroom?”

Amusement filling him, Oliver turned, keeping her in his arms, and headed to the bedroom, their clothes scattered, forgotten, below. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my other works if you liked this. 
> 
> Come say Hi to me on
> 
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	10. Loaded (In which Felicity Holds a Gun and Oliver Gets Drugged)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Felicity Holds a Gun and Oliver Gets Drugged.
> 
> Based on the comment by Stephen. Dosed on a drug trope.

* * *

It was the drug he had been injected with, Digg had told her. The drug had been something Digg had seen people use on his tours to torture and interrogate prisoners but it had a huge side-effect. 

_“Felicity he won’t be himself if he wakes up.”_

_“There is no knowing how far gone he would be.”_

_“We don’t know what nightmares he’ll see when he wakes up.”_

The words rang through her head as she sat on her chair in the new foundry, her eyes on the unconscious body of the man she loved, her heart aching upon seeing him like this. 

Two days ago, Oliver had been captured during a mission that had gone horribly wrong, taken prisoner by the drug lord they had been hunting, and the team had returned without him to a furious, distraught Felicity. For two days, she hadn’t caught a wink of sleep, her imagination working overtime just as her rational mind had, trying to locate him and bring him back to her, to safety. 

They had caught a break tonight and the team had gone in for the rescue with Felicity on the comms. The moment she had seen Oliver’s unconscious body, she had known something had been terribly wrong. And then Digg had told her of the drug and Felicity’s knees had wobbled, her eyes closing for the pain he had had to endure again. 

Once he had been examined and settled on the med table, the team had waited for him to wake up. After a few hours of nothing, they had slowly gone home, with Digg restraining Oliver with handcuffs and leaving her with the words that sat heavy in her heart, sleep evading her as she just looked at the rise and fall of his chest, completely alone in the Arrow cave. 

Her eyes moved to the handcuffs on his wrists, the red pelts where he had obviously been bound for two days stark against his skin. Seeing the marks, Felicity felt rage flood her and got up in a swift movement, uncuffing his hands, letting her thumb trace the angry red marks slowly, wishing she could heal them even a bit. No matter how he woke up, he wouldn’t hurt her, and she knew it deep in her bones.

So she sat back and waited some more.

* * *

Almost two hours later, a low noise from his chest had her sitting straight in the chair, her heart slowly picking up pace as she gripped the arms of her chair, her eyes riveted on him. 

She saw him sit up suddenly, glancing around the foundry frantically, his muscular legs swinging as he got down, just as his eyes settled on her. There was a wild look in them she had never seen before. 

   _“Felicity he won’t be himself if he wakes up.”_

She stood up from the chair, keeping her eyes on his, that wild look in his eyes getting more and more untamed as he took a step forward, baring his teeth and breathing through his mouth like a beast. 

Felicity took a step back, her back colliding with the drawers of weapons as a rumble escaped him, his hand shooting out to flip the med table violently, his body vibrating with energy, his hands clenched to fists by his side. 

Looking into his eyes, at the dilated pupils, so dilated she could barely see the beautiful blue, for the first time since she had known him, Felicity felt a frisson of fear travel down her spine. 

“Oliver,” she whispered softly, trying to reach him, not willing to admit that he was so under the influence of the drug that he couldn’t remember her, her heart pounding wildly. 

He snarled and took another step forward, no recognition on his face, nothing. 

Unable to believe what she was about to do, Felicity quickly pulled a gun from the drawer and aimed it at him, keeping the safety on, no intention of shooting him at all, just of stopping him. 

Oliver’s body was a fortress of raw strength that he kept on a tight leash but he could easily hurt her bad if he let go, especially when he had lost his marbles like this. 

The gun pointed to his chest stopped him in his tracks and Felicity saw his head tilt, almost as though he was considering it, his eyes roving up and down her body with such naked lust it made her breath catch. 

“Oliver,” she spoke again, keeping the tremor out of her voice. “Stay back.”

A predatory look came over his face then, almost as though he took her words as a challenge, and despite herself, Felicity felt her tummy flip and blood heat, a small shiver of a completely different kind going over her. She had never, despite their amazing sex life, seen this intense a look on his face, this heated with desire. It was so  _raw_ , so carnal that she felt her veins go a bit languid as her arms remained straight, keeping the gun on him. 

Suddenly, he took three steps, his hand shooting out and catching a hold of her wrist, disarming her in a second, the gun clattering to the ground as he pulled her forward. Without any warning, his other hand pulled her skirt up and cupped her boldly, his fingers pushing the fabric of cotton aside and plunging inside her without prelude. 

Felicity’s knees shook as his feet spread her legs apart, her hands going to his biceps and gripping them as he pumped his fingers in and out of her repeatedly, his darkened eyes on hers, his face twisted into an expression of unadulterated heat, her wetness coating his fingers as he shoved them inside her over and over and over again, his callouses scraping over her inner walls, making them squeeze around the digits, as her breathing ruptured, heat coiling in her belly rapidly. 

He pulled his fingers out before it could coil tighter, and keeping his gaze on hers, locked, put his fingers in his mouth, licking them slowly. 

Felicity felt her brain fry pretty much at that point, the action so hot it made her even wetter as she watched him lick every drop of her essence from his fingers. 

His other hand came up to her hair then, gripping it and tilting her head back completely as his mouth slanted over hers, his tongue opening her lips without any warning, making her taste herself on him, the act so dirty and so arousing it made her muscles clench emptily as his mouth bruised hers, devouring her tongue with his and plunging and withdrawing, rubbing them together, his other hand cupping her breast and pulling sharply on a nipple, making her body arch into his, his erection hard and evident against her stomach. 

Oliver picked her up suddenly, carrying her to the round table just on the right and depositing her on it, pulling his head back. His eyes roamed over her body in almost a lewd manner, and she breathed heavily, her mouth burning from that kiss, the skin around it burning from the friction with his scruff. 

His hands traced her breasts and tugged the zipper away exposing them, his mouth falling on one erect nipple hungrily as his hands went lower and ripped her panties away before she could protest. 

She didn’t know when he got his zipper down, her mind too distracted with the shape sensations shooting down from her breast to her groin as he nibbled and pulled and sucked on her breasts. But the next thing she knew, he was inside her and pounding in a rhythm before she had even caught her breath, her legs thrown over his wide shoulders as her hammered his hips into hers, his erection slicing in and out of her so fast she could do nothing but moan as pleasure shot through her veins, the friction so delicious and carnal it made her wanton. She arched her back over the table, offering him her breasts again as his hand came on her clit, rubbing it furiously, his lips tugging on her nipples again, the pistoning of his hips wild and untamed. 

Oliver had unleashed that control he always had on his body, and he fucked her like an animal in that moment, an animal in heat, and her body responded like one, pushing back thrust for thrust and clawing and scratching at him as cries and moans and whimpers escaped her lips, his own skin sweat soaked and breathing heavy, growls occasionally leaving his chest. 

“Yes. Yes… Please… Don’t stop…”, she kept muttering, the words slowly becoming incoherent as the coil inside her wound tighter and tighter, her eyes closing and hips pushing up off the table, back bowing completely as she exploded into her orgasm, his name a garbled shout on her lips as her body trembled uncontrollably. 

Oliver didn’t even pause as she exploded into that powerful orgasm, just moved her legs away from his shoulders and flipped her swiftly, her naked breasts suddenly pressing into the cool glass of the table. He was inside her again, not stopping, not pausing, his hand finding her clit again as she felt herself build towards another orgasm, her body already sensitized form the last one, her walls milking him, quivering around him for life, his hard, huge length penetrating her even deeper in this position, hitting her sweet spot on every rapid thrust. 

Oliver pushed her leg up over his arm, almost enough that it reached the table, spreading her even more to his plunges, and Felicity closed her eyes, humming from the deep sparks of heat and need and hunger that radiated from where he hit her, exploding into another orgasm, her fingers clutching the edge of the table of purchase, coming with a scream. 

And he still didn’t stop. 

Her heart pounding so hard she could feel the blood in her ears, Felicity knew she would be very, very sore tomorrow, knew that any more orgasms would probably make her pass out. But as he kept moving as pleasure kept shooting through her veins, she remembered the red pelts around his wrist and let him take her any way he liked, let him burn the excessive energy inside him like this. She knew he would have let her do the same in a heartbeat had the situations been reversed. 

He took her sideways next, took her against the pillar and back to table. Felicity lost the count of the number of times she came, her body pliable and limbs languid under his ministrations, her throat hoarse from screaming over and over again, her mind completely blank except the pleasure that became a constant buzz, Oliver’s big, hard body all around her, his scars brushing her breasts as she kept her eyes closed, just hanging onto him for dear life, her body shaking and trembling. 

Finally, after hours since they started, Felicity felt his cock swell a little inside her, twitch, right before he exploded with a loud growl, biting her shoulder as he came and flooded her completely, his breathing heavy against her neck and her body used, sated, out of the heat. 

He kept her eyes closed as his weight dropped on her, his head nestled right above her breast, and for the first time in three days, Felicity heard him speak. 

“You look so sexy with a gun, Felicity.”

She would have chuckled had she had the energy, or even opened her eyes. She did neither, their sweat slicked bodies still joined and entwined. 

She just breathed a sigh of relief. 

He was back. He had fucked the drug out of himself. Bravo. 

And then she passed out.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	11. The Photograph - Part 2

* * *

**NUMBER 1**

Oliver never kissed her cheek. Oliver had never kissed her cheek. 

They had started somewhere with soft shoulder touches and moved to arms and little hugs and before anything else, he had dived in straight for her lips. Felicity remembered kissing him on the cheek once, but he never kissed her on the cheek. It had been months now, since they were together, and though Felicity never really asked him, she did wonder. 

Oliver loved kissing her, she knew. He loved kissing her lips into silence and into smiles, he loved kissing her skin in whispers of dreams he had started seeing again, he loved kissing her flesh in promises of intents that left her toes curling. Oliver loved kissing her. He never kissed her cheek. 

What he did kiss was  _his_  spot. It was his not because he had ever verbally told her so, but because he kissed her right on that spot every chance he got. Just below her jawline, on the periphery of her cheek, under her ear, there was a spot Felicity had not known she possessed till Oliver discovered it. And now it didn’t matter how he took her, or how she took him, it didn’t matter if she was writhing on top of him or he was looming above her, Oliver always, without fail, kissed that spot, nipped it with his teeth, laved it with his tongue, worshiped it with his mouth. 

So, when the little girl Felicity had given the camera to demanded that he kiss her on the cheek, Felicity turned to him, to see him blink like that notion was alien to him, before he turned his face and locked eyes with her. She saw the way his eyes roamed her face before his lips twitched, his blue eyes glinting beautifully, and he dipped his head, aiming for his hidden spot.

And Felicity smiled despite herself, because to anyone who would see the picture later, they would look like a normal couple, with the man kissing the woman’s cheek. 

But Felicity would see the crinkles at the corner of his eyes, even as they were closed in pure happiness. She knew she would see the smile she could feel against her skin. And she knew she didn’t need those cheek kisses when he always gave her more, so much more. 

Looking at this moment, they would always know it was more than just a happy couple. It was so much more.

* * *

**NUMBER 2**

The first time Felicity had kissed his cheek, Oliver had realized he never had. They had skipped that part completely somewhere along the way, and then when they came together, it had been a culmination of years of buildup. There had been no time for cheek kisses when he had had only one night with the woman he loved, condemned as he had been to never see her again. 

But they had crossed that bridge too, and now, months into their relationship, Oliver still hadn’t kissed her cheek. He had tasted every inch of her flesh, every corner of her lush mouth, every nook and cranny of her body. He was pretty sure he knew her body better than she did at this point, just as she knew his. But despite it all, he had never kissed her cheek. 

He was happy. But he knew he wouldn’t. 

Cheek kisses, in his world, had always been a sign of false affections. He had been brought up kissing cheeks. He had kissed women on cheeks when he blew them off. He had let his lips brush over so many of them, and he still did, from time to time, because of society and the world they lived in, he had always reserved special kisses. He always kissed Thea on the head, because he loved her so much, because that was the only spot he had been able to kiss on her tiny pink face when he had held her in his arms for the first time. That was his spot, and Thea knew it. 

He had wanted a spot on Felicity, aside from her lips, that he could kiss anytime and she would know it was just for her. Since he had realized he was a man who reserved everything apart from touches and heated looks for more private places with her, he had ached to have that one spot for her. And he had found it, that night in Nanda Parbat. One small spot he had discovered completely by chance, tucked right below her ear, that always made her breath catch. 

So, when the little girl told him to kiss her on the cheek, Oliver knew he wouldn’t, not even for a photograph. He turned to look down at her glowing face instead, and dipped his head to taste that spot, his favorite spot, his spot, right against her jaw. He felt her breath hitch, as always, and felt her smile as she tilted her head to give him better access without even realizing it, and he smiled. 

Because he had  _his_  own spot on her. He had her. 

It was everything. And it was so much more. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	12. The House (Inspired by 4x01 trailer)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on the house in the new Season 4 trailer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE TRAILER HAS KILLED ME FYI

 

 

* * *

When Felicity had been a little girl, she had loved living with her parents in the big house with the sloped roofs. It had always stayed cool in the heat of the city and Felicity had had a pretty room all to herself with white stars on the ceiling that she had counted to sleep every night. 

They had left that house behind when her father had left and moved in a smaller apartment. It had been stifling, hot, and her room had had a ceiling with leaks. Felicity had sometimes heard her mother cry when her mom came back from work, and she had always retreated into her small, cramped room, lying on her bed, her intelligent mind understanding things too old for her age. Looking up at the ceiling, she had missed the stars. 

That house was left behind without any regrets, since her relationship with her mother had become a little strained as well, for a dorm room in MIT. It had been small but she had shaken her head and put in her stuff, not really changing anything because she had known she would leave again. 

Her townhouse, when she had brought it with excitement, had been perfect. It had had sloping roofs and she had childishly put stars on the ceiling as well, decorating the house as she had pleased, making it as comfortable for herself as possible. But she had realized within a week that it couldn’t work. It had been too big and she had been too alone, living in her own house like a stranger. 

The foundry had, for some reason, made her itch with the delight to make it livable. So she had. It had evolved into  “Arrow Cave” (even though Oliver refused to call it that) and she had spent more and more of her time there, feeling more lively in the cold basement than she had at her big house, despite the hustle of people there, despite the attacks. It had always felt safe and warm.

And then the foundry had turned cold, all the life seeping out of it the day Oliver had not returned from the mountain. Felicity had floundered then, after two years of being anchored, adrift, lost, not knowing where she had belonged. But then he had returned, and despite the tension between them, he had brought back exactly what he had taken with him.

As Felicity sat on the counter now, looking around the house they had bought just last month after quite some time on the road, a house with with more rooms than they knew what to do with (except have sex in each and every one of them), when she had squealed over the sloping roofs and the lawn. Oliver had nodded, looking at her excited face, and they had moved in. 

There were happy memories on the walls, heated memories they had made against those walls, every inch of this place buzzing with life. With Oliver. 

She knew he would walk in any second now, back from his run, all sweaty and rumpled but so sexy. She knew he would remark on finding her in the kitchen and shut her up with a kiss that would slowly change into so much more heated against the kitchen counter. She knew it would be some time before he would cook her that perfect breakfast he loved to feed her so much.

But seeing him walk inside, Felicity realized one thing. 

She had never had anyone to welcome into herself. But now t nights, when she looked up at her ceiling, she found Oliver looming over her, sliding into her, letting her welcome him inside herself in every way fathomable. 

The walls, the rooms, the slopes and ceiling didn’t matter. He did. 

Somewhere along the way, over the years, without her even realizing it, he had become home.  

They were home.

* * *

When Oliver had been a child, he had never thought, even in his wildest imaginations, that he would live anywhere except the Queen Mansion. He had grown up on the sprawling property as the son of Robert Queen, roamed it’s huge grounds and gallivanted through all its secret passageways that he doubted even his father had known about. And especially with Tommy staying there most of the time, the mansion had always been home. 

The first time Laurel suggested they move in together, it had jolted something inside him, made him realize how averse he was to the idea of ever leaving the walls that knew him, accepted him, gave him solace in his wild aftermath. He had known, even before he had changed the topic, that moving out of the mansion was not something he would ever do. 

And then the walls had crumbled, leaving him with nothing but dark, thunderous skies for a ceiling and angry, thick woods for walls. Sometimes there had been a cramped cave to give him shelter on nights when his blood had frozen from the cold in his veins, the raindrops soaking him to the bone, chilling him in a way that had never really left. Before he had completely acclimated to it, he had been heaved off from one hotel room to another, from one apartment to the next. 

For over five years, Oliver had slept under roofs he couldn’t trust, walls he had never understood, and it had become so deeply entrenched inside him, this mistrust of bricks and stones, that he had carried it back with him. 

He had thought that returning to the mansion would ease it, soothe it. On the first night, he had realized it hadn’t. The mansion that he had dreamed about had been lost to him, its walls cold and strange to him. Oliver had accepted it, like everything else, and moved on, focusing on his mission, the foundry cool but unwelcoming. Things had moved on and he had floundered inside himself, not searching for what he had lost and never finding it, bearing it as his curse. 

Felicity had remodeled “Arrow Cave”, even though he had refused to call it that, made it more welcoming, more livable, warmer somehow, but it had been filled with too many friends,and later too many enemies, invaded, destroyed, never completely giving him the solace it had had the potential of providing, even though he had slept many a nights inside it. 

Thea’s loft had always been Thea’s, and Malcolm’s, to him, never his own. It had been too open, too spacious, too not him. But again it had been a roof over his head and Oliver had known how rare those could be. So, he had stayed, and he had left, his destiny taking him to Tatsu’s cold cabin in the snow, his choices taking him to the ancient stone fortress that had felt more like a dungeon, except on the one night of satin sheets and soft sighs.

Oliver had known he had loved Felicity beyond his own belief by that point. But something that night had taken him by surprise. He had entered her, felt her muscles convulsing and her arms around him, and suddenly, his notions of walls had changed in that split second.     

Oliver took a deep breath, running on the concrete, letting his legs hit the ground quickly as he rounded a corner, looking at the house on the left, with white walls and sloping roofs that had made Felicity bounce on her toes and made him grin when they had seen it. He ran across the lawn he had mowed last night and entered through the side door, knowing he would find the light walls adorned with trinkets and photographs from their trip, knowing he would find her in the kitchen, inevitably focusing more on the book in her hand than the food burning near her. He knew he’d walk in and she’d look up, her face lighting up with that smile she just had for him, and knew he’d feel the surprise that this woman was his yet again, even after all this time. He knew he’d tease her about the food and she’d make an innuendo before covering it up with a laugh that he would swallow with his own mouth, deposing her on the counter and their bloods would heat. 

Oliver had never, since his return from his hell, had anyone welcome him. No house or their owners had. But Felicity did. With abandon. They had settled in the house, yes, but he had started understanding this since the night in Nanda Parbat, the last few months spent in motels like wanderers only cementing one fact. 

The walls, the rooms, the slopes and ceiling didn’t matter. She did.

Somewhere along the way, over the years, without his even realizing it, she had become home.

They were home.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	13. Her Pink (Inspired by 4x01 trailer)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ficlet. Her lipstick on his mouth. From the trailer.

* * *

His lips were pink. Not the natural color of his mouth, but rather a deep fuchsia shade of pink, glistening. Oliver inconspicuously put his tongue out, and tasted the strawberry flavor he spent hours devouring on his own mouth. His lips just started to curl upwards, his mind wandering to how Felicity had pushed him hurriedly when everyone had come down, slapping at his wandering eyes and giving him her patent glare, and straightened her clothes, making herself presentable enough.

It was moot. 

Because his lips were pink. Her pink.  

Oliver kept his face stoic, looking at Digg as he updated them about the men in the warehouse last night, his own face a blank mask. It had been tense between them since his return, like a live wire ready to snap. But at that very moment, as Digg spoke, Oliver saw Digg’s eyes glance at his mouth before his gaze went over his shoulder, to where Oliver knew Felicity was standing quietly. 

And Digg shook his head just a tiny bit, enough to tell Oliver that he was both amused and exasperated. The tenseness lifted away for a second.

Everyone got up and started leaving. Digg, for the first time in a week, looked at Oliver and gave a smile. “Nice shade, man.”

Oliver’s mouth smiled back, his lips pink. Her pink.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	14. The Photograph - Part 3

* * *

Felicity had never had pictures taken with Oliver. Oh they had taken a few snaps here and there over the years, but the photos always had had someone with them, sometimes Digg, sometimes Roy, Thea and Lyla even. But for all the quiet moments they had had, they had never had a picture taken together. To be honest, Felicity had avoided it. 

Oliver Queen, the first time she had seen him, had been a photograph in the CEO’s office. It had been a photograph from his rich, wild days, and she had believed, like everyone else, that he had been dead. But the swagger and confidence in that picture had made a pang go through her heart because as beautiful as he had been, she had known even as a young girl she could never really have stood beside him, despite her fancies. He had been too beautiful. And it had intimidated her.

After she had joined the team, as an awkward young woman, she had seen from behind the doors how the cameras had followed Oliver Queen. And though his smile had never really reached his eyes, he had stood tall and proud and every inch the confident man that he was, giving those cameras what they had craved- a piece of Oliver Queen. Felicity had seen from the sidelines as he held Laurel’s waist or Thea’s arm or McKenna’s hand without blinking as cameras had flashed all around him, uncaring of those. And even though Felicity had loved herself as she was, she had known she would never have been in those photographs with him. 

Her own insecurities had quelled a little one night when Digg had taken out his phone and snapped a quick selfie of the three of them, to get her out of a grumpy mood, and the picture had turned out to be beautiful, with Oliver’s mouth straight but his eyes smiling, Digg making a face as Felicity glared at the camera. It had taken a spot on her fridge that same evening. 

Becoming his executive assistant had made her very conscious. Accompanying him everywhere had meant stepping out of the sidelines and behind him when the cameras followed him around. But it hadn’t mattered, because those pictures, yet again, had always had people in them, and most of the times they hadn’t even been aware of the cameras flashing. 

Roy coming into the team had changed things a bit for her. He became the first person, after her father, with whom she clicked pictures without any insecurities, and she loved it because despite all the brood, Roy loved making faces for her, and it had made her feel special. But pictures with Oliver had been rare, and all of them with people. 

So when they had stopped near the waterfront an hour ago on the second day of their vacation, she had not expected him to take the camera out of her bag and hand it to a young girl (who had looked slightly dazed at Oliver’s smile, not that Felicity could blame her). She had also, after knowing how much he hated getting clicked, not expected him to pull her to his side. 

Felicity’s heart pounded as she stood frozen, blinking widely at the camera, all those years of insecurities, years of knowing she couldn’t belong, weighing upon her suddenly, making her chest heavy and her breath catch. Being in a picture alone with Oliver for the first time, despite everything they had been through, was not something she was ready for. 

As though sensing how close she was to shuffling away, Oliver’s arms, huge muscular arms that she had admired from afar for so long and felt around her for so little, came around her. He wrapped her in his embrace from behind, turning his head to kiss that spot behind her ear, his spot, soothing her frayed nerves slightly as she turned her head to look up at him. 

His eyes, clear, blue eyes, looked down at her softly, with that look of his, and Felicity slowly felt the tension leave her body at his focused gaze. Taking a deep breath, she turned back to the camera, her hands coming up to hold his muscular forearms around her, her heart pounding but not in insecurities. Felicity closed her eyes for one second, feeling his warm chest pressed against her back, feeling his thighs against hers, feeling his arms cocooning her from herself, his breath brushing over her ear. Her grip on his hand tightened and she opened her eyes, a smile taking over her face as she leaned back into him, accepting what he was giving, knowing in her bones that the love this man had for her surpassed her own insecurities. 

She felt that love wrapped around her, felt him around her, in a way she had only dreamed about for so many years, and she grabbed all of it with her hands. 

She smiled for their first photo ever. 

* * *

Cameras were no strangers to Oliver. He had been photographed since he had been a baby. Being Oliver Queen had meant seeing every deed of yours splashed everywhere. 

As a young boy, he had delighted in it with Tommy, both of them enjoying the attention their parents hadn’t given them. As an adolescent, he had swung between thriving off of it and annoyance. By his late teens, Oliver had realized he hated it. He had hated not being able to surprise Thea because someone had clicked a picture of him doing something in preparation. He had hated hearing Laurel rail at him because that girl from the previous night had had her friend click a picture of them kissing for her five minutes of fame. He had hated being under the scrutiny like a controlled lab rat with his parents hounding over his head for him to behave. 

So, he had lashed out. Reacted. Gone off the rails doing as wild and as explicit things he could to show those cameras a middle finger. 

Returning after five years had mellowed that. He had come with a mission that didn’t need attention drawn to him, and he had been a shadow for so long that the cameras hadn’t fazed him anymore. He had been aware of them as a threat, smiled for them because he was Oliver Queen, and gone through his playboy ways, always aware of being watched, using the cameras for his own purposes to hide his other identity. 

Oliver had accepted the cameras, even though he hated them, long ago. But he had never understood Felicity where cameras were concerned. 

He had been aware, like he had always been of everything around him, especially everything concerning her, of her eyes on him at social events when he posed with people. He had been aware of the way she had stood deliberately away from the attention. At first he had chalked it up to her awkwardness with people, which frankly he had found endearing, and accepted it. 

Then Digg had clicked a picture one night, of the three of them, and though the picture was one of his favorites, he had realized that night that Felicity’s aversion to camera hadn’t been about people but something else. It had fallen into place after she became his assistant and glared him in the face when Roy joined the team. Felicity’s aversion to cameras only flared with him. 

It had bothered Oliver, how she’d always pull someone in the picture if they happened to be alone, how she’d always step back and put distance between them whenever they were in public. Women had loved to be photographed with him all his life. Felicity had avoided it like a plague and it had bothered him, not because of his ego, but because it had been Felicity and anything not right concerning her didn’t sit well with him. 

Oliver had thought about it for a long time, never reaching any conclusion as to why she did what she did. He had known she liked him, known she believed in him, known she found him incredibly attractive. It just hadn’t made sense. 

And then, on Digg’s wedding, when he had missed the photographing session, Oliver had stood back and watched as Thea clicked pictures of her with Roy, saw the way she smiled and looked around comfortably, when it had clicked. 

It had never been about him. It had been about her. 

So when the dust settled and they burned down the urgent need for each other enough to sight see, Oliver took the camera from her bag and handed it to a passing girl, watching Felicity carefully. He saw the way she suddenly stiffened and looked at him with wide, stunned eyes, and he ignored them. They were together. It was time this went away. 

He stepped behind her, pulling her against him, her body fitting against his so perfectly that he nearly sighed. He had known her long enough to know she’d try to step out, which was why he firmly wrapped his arms around her, feeling her body rigid against his, and pressed his lips to that spot behind her ear that always made her go soft. It did. He felt her relax slowly, her hands coming up to grip his arms, nails digging into his skin like they had in his back hours ago, her beautiful, azure eyes blinking up at him from behind her glasses as she turned her neck to see him. 

Oliver let her look her fill, let her take whatever reassurances she needed, whatever she needed from his gaze, knowing she’d see nothing but the love he felt coursing through his veins every single second, falling deeper and deeper with her. 

He saw when she finally let go, her eyes clearing of those little shadows and her lips curving in a smile as she turned back to the camera. Oliver felt his lips turn up just slightly as his arms tightened around her, her hands on his forearms, the scent of her shampoo wafting over him. 

Oliver hated being photographed, but with her, like this, he realized he didn’t.

He smiled for their first photo ever.       

 

 

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	15. The Lower Lip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver has a thing for her lower lip. Both Oliver’s and Felicity’s POV.

* * *

 

Felicity Smoak had seen Oliver Queen kiss multitudes of women, even before she had known him. The magazines and TV screens had been splashed from his one shenanigan to the other, and somewhere between those, there had been gorgeous women with their lips locked with his. Felicity had seen those pictures with mild interest at first, then slowly, as her secret little crush had blossomed, with a more detailed eye. 

Before she had even reached any sort of conclusion, the object of her infatuation had been lost at sea and presumed dead, and Felicity had just gone one with her life, slightly disappointed for the one lost. 

And then he had miraculously returned, like only the people on TV shows did, and he had come back, the same playboy in the eyes of the world. But Felicity, who had seen him in his playboy ways with close scrutiny, had spotted the difference. His shoulders had been too tensed, his eyes too intense, his everything just  _wrong_  with the image he had tried to project. 

The day he had walked into her office, she had babbled like an idiot, and by the time he had left, she had been certain he had known of the secret crush she had harbored on him for years. But he had been nice, nicer than she would have thought, because he had just smiled (which had dazed her slightly for a second) and not called her out on it at all. He hadn’t embarrassed her and she had been grateful for it. 

Over the time, the more she had gotten to know him, his mission, his beliefs, his good heart and that  _fantastic_  body, the more her infatuation had spiraled into something she had known she wouldn’t have been able to control. And though she had been pretty certain Oliver had known about it, she had never crossed the line beyond innuendos and staring (because that had been  _totally_  out of control; the man had an illegal body). 

But Oliver had known. Because even though she had known he dated women and showed affection for them, he had carefully avoided doing so in her presence, for whatever reason. 

Except one time, when she had just gone up from the foundry to get some vodka from the closed club because the code she had been working on had  _needed_  vodka to move, she had seen him with McKenna. If Felicity had thought Laurel Gorgeous, McKenna had been Exquisite. And despite herself, Felicity had felt a little inadequate, because she had been a short, dyed blonde with big glasses. But her eyes had been glued. 

They had been kissing, and seeing him in action had suddenly made all the pictures and videos she had seen of him kissing fall into place with astounding clarity and realization had smacked her upside the head. 

Oliver Queen loved kissing women. He  _never, ever_  kissed their lower lip. 

He either pecked them, or pressed on them, or went straight for the tongue, or even used teeth sometimes, but he never, ever just simply sucked on lips like she enjoyed sometimes. 

After that, she had never seen him kiss again, and he had never been caught on camera, even though she had known of the women in his bed. He had kissed Sara sometimes, but never more than a friendly peck in her presence. It had never been a lover’s kiss, hadn’t been rife with the intensity she had known he had been capable of. And she had never understood why he had looked at her with more intensity than he had kissed his girlfriend.

Time had moved on. And as she had seen him lose, hope, lose again, fight, as she had seen the pure strength that he was, the pure goodness that he was, Felicity had felt that small infatuation unfurl, transform. Oliver Queen had, over time, become the man she loved like she had never loved anyone before, and like she knew she’d never love anyone after.

Then Slade had happened, and Oliver had told her words as a ruse but with those honest eyes she had known better than her codes, and for that moment, when he had looked at her, his hand pressing a syringe into hers, the city crumbling around them, she had felt more than gorgeous, more than exquisite. She had felt perfect. 

He had asked her on a date after a few months. Felicity had wondered that night how he would kiss her. She had wanted to see if he would pull on her lips or he wouldn’t. 

That kiss had never come. What had come had been desperate breaths and shaky decisions murmured against lips. 

Things had fallen apart, and she had seen the man she had loved lose and spiral into his own misery, unwilling to let anyone help him. Her heart had ached, and when Ray had kissed her, she had wondered in the back of her mind about the kisses she had never had. 

Nanda Parbat changed everything. The moment the words had been out of her mouth, Oliver’s lips had been on hers and she had lost herself to the sensation of having him, finally, after so long, loving him with abandon like she had always wanted. And when he had been moving over her, his hips thrusting into hers, their arms around each other, the sensation so exquisite, so poignant she had been oblivious of everything but him, she had felt it. 

Oliver had taken her lower lip between his and kissed them with all that intensity she had been a sucker for, nibbled on them like he’d never let go, right before swiping his tongue over it, caressing it. 

And in that moment, Felicity had felt special.  _More_  special, all the gorgeous ladies from his past nothing, all her insecurities, even after so long, nothing but dust. Because Oliver Queen had kissed her lip. 

And over the months, she realized he loved kissing her. Every inch of her mouth, every part of her lips. But he always, without doubt, began with the lower lip. She didn’t know why he did that, neither did she ever ask. 

But standing there after five months spent loving each other like a dream, with her arms around his waist after he came back from his morning run and the smell of his sweat mingling with the musky essence that was him, his big, familiar hands holding her like she was precious, Felicity grinned, loving the way their lips conformed together, loving his smile against her mouth, loving him. 

And then he kissed her lower lip. 

* * *

 

When Oliver and Tommy had been 12, one night at his house, they had talked about girls with all the seriousness of 12 year olds. And somehow, the discussion had morphed into kissing the said girls . 

At a sagely moment, Tommy had said, “But we can’t kiss all the girls the same. Our wives may feel bad about it.” 

How considerate. Oliver had nodded. They had thought of withholding tongue, before looking at each other, horrified, and shaken their little heads in sync. They had thought and thought and finally, when they couldn’t think anymore, they had decided that they wouldn’t suck on any girl’s lower lip unless she was going to be the wife. With all the maturity of the moment, they had shaken on it. 

They had grown older and gone through multitudes of women carelessly, but the pact they had made as kids had somehow held them back. 

Oliver had loved women before the island. And what hadn’t been to love? They had had soft skins and breasts and vaginas and had loved him back. He had too. He had done the most risque, crude things to women. They had loved him for it and kicked him for it.   

Yes, he had loved women. No, he hadn’t respected them for shit. And he had never kissed their lower lip, for some insane reason, maybe because it had been a pact with Tommy and he had loved Tommy more than a brother. 

And he had always gotten away with it, with distractions on his part and ignorance on theirs. Even Laurel had never noticed it. And he had ran away with it, even though he had known she had been planning a future for them. It had made him an ass, and he had known it, but he just had never been able to bring himself to kiss that lower lip. 

In the five years he was away, he kissed a few women, but never the lower lip. At that point, it had become a promise he had to keep to Tommy, and a hope that he could return and kiss Laurel like he should have. 

When he had returned, a changed, damaged man, and saw Tommy kiss Laurel on the lip, he had backed off. 

And almost three weeks after his return, he had entered a bright cubicle, with colors splashed everywhere, colors like he hadn’t seen for so long and asked,  _“Felicity Smoak?”_

She had turned, all big blue eyes behind huge glasses and a low, blonde ponytail. But his eyes had been drawn to her beautiful, lush mouth painted a bright pink, holding a red pen between the lips. And Oliver had surprised himself, his eyes glued to that lower lip, wondering things he had no business thinking about. The lips had opened then and spoken the most amusing words he had heard in a long time, making his own twitch up in a way that had become a stranger to him. He had smiled. His fate had been sealed then. 

He had returned time and again, to see the new shade on her lips, to hear the words coming out of them, and slowly, she had become integral to his existence. 

Time had passed. He had kissed many women. He had wondered about another’s lips. Felicity became something no one had ever been to him. A certainty. A beautiful, intelligent woman who somehow had loved their mission and loved him enough to be his partner. And he had known that she had deep emotions for him, or she would never have put up with half his baggage and shouldered it on her tiny frame with a smile ready for him, time and again. 

By the time he had been with Sara, after the Count and Barry had happened, Oliver had known he had wanted to kiss one woman on the lower lip and that hadn’t been his girlfriend. But Sara had been convenient, and he had been the same for her. It hadn’t lasted. He had known somewhere deep down it probably hadn’t meant to. 

There had come so many moments when he had almost given in. When Felicity had sometimes gnawed at her lip while working, or smiled and curved it, or pouted in annoyance, or chewed on pens like that first time he had seen her. So many little moments that had become the pivotal for him. 

She had become pivotal for him.

The night in the clock tower, when the city had been burning and he had been adrift, when she had steeled her spine and anchored him, looking at her trembling mouth, Oliver had known, in that moment, that he had wanted to kiss those lips for life.  _Only_  those. 

Slade had been dealt with and time had passed, their flirtations growing, their intimacy increasing, and Oliver had finally asked her for a date, knowing he would kiss that lower lip and ascertain to himself something he had known since that first day. 

But that kiss had never come. He had never kissed that lip because he knew he hadn’t deserved to, and she had pulled away before he could change his mind. 

Oliver had known in the following months, full of pain and heartbreak, that he would never kiss another woman. Period. Felicity was  _Felicity_. She had been  _it_  for him, and she had deserved better than a man who could love her like he did and still be with another woman. He couldn’t have done that, to himself or to her. 

The night in Nanda Parbat, ripe with years of tension and love coming to fruition, knowing he may never have her again with him, he had given in. She had been the most perfect woman, from the way she had giggled slightly when he had touched her ribs, to the soft, utter love he had seen in her beautiful eyes for himself, to the scar on her shoulder she had been so proud of when she had gotten it, never realizing how close he had come to losing it that night, Felicity had been  _perfect._  

And feeling her welcome him home, her warmth, her love, her  _everything,_  moving inside her, seeing her lips part in pleasure, he had finally, after so many years of need, claimed them, trapping her lower lip between his, kissing it like he never had another, tasting it against his tongue. Oliver had known she would probably never realize it, like no one ever had, but he  _knew._  To him, he had given himself to her in that moment, in every way he could have. 

Over the five months, he did it every time before kissing her, every chance he got. He promised her his future, their future, wordlessly, with his lips on hers every time. 

And standing on her toes in front of him, still barely reaching his face, as she grinned against his mouth, Oliver felt that happiness bubble inside him, the happiness he had never thought he could ever feel, never thought he deserved, never fathomed he had been capable of. Oliver felt that ecstasy and held her close, wondering how happy Tommy would have been to see him like this, knowing how instantly Tommy would have known who Felicity was to him. The memory of that night years ago, when they had made the pact, made him smile against Felicity’s mouth.   

And then he kissed her lower lip. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	16. The Photograph - Part 4

* * *

Felicity had never had a unique nickname in her entire life. 

Her name, as old school as it was, had never allowed anyone to find her a good nickname. Her father had called her ‘munchkin’ decades ago, right till the day he had left. Her mother had always gone by ‘honey’ or ‘sweetheart’. Cooper had called her ‘babe’ which she had absolutely detested but had never told him so. Apart from that, she had never been as close enough to anyone to warrant a nickname. Not until she joined the team. But to them, she had always been Felicity. Just Felicity. 

She had seen the people in Oliver’s life call him ‘Ollie’, seen the way he softened when Thea had said it or blinked softly when Sara or Laurel had. Diggle had always been Digg, and Roy’s nickname would have been longer than his actual name so it had been moot. 

But she had wondered what it would have felt like to have a nickname. And though she had always loved the way Oliver had said her name, always felt mushy when Digg had said it, she had wondered deep down how they’d react if she asked them for a nickname. 

After a month of their new yet so old relationship, a month filled with sight seeing and clicking pictures everywhere now that she was comfortable, a month filled with flat surfaces and sweaty bodies and moans and screams of pleasure, one morning, while walking hand in hand in a small town off the coast, Felicity gathered her nerves and asked him outright. 

“If you had to give me a nickname, what would it be?”

Oliver stopped at her question, giving her a baffled look, before blinking. She patiently waited for a response, and after seconds, when it didn’t come, resigned, she almost walked off. But his hand on her arm stopped her and whirled her around and she looked up at him, only to find his gaze on an outdoor restaurant across the street. 

And then his lips curved. 

“Lobster.”

Felicity blinked, pretty sure she had heard wrong. “Lobster?”

Oliver nodded.

Felicity blinked again, bewildered.  _“Lobster?”_

Oliver grinned then, his eyes still on the restaurant, shrugging. 

Felicity turned to the cafe to see what he was looking at, and saw an old woman eating a lobster. Suddenly, she burst out laughing, clutching his sleeve, peals of laughter erupting from her chest in the middle of the sidewalk while he grinned, his eyes still on the restaurant. 

“Seriously, Oliver?” she asked in between giggles. “That’s the basis for it? I should be grateful she isn’t eating a chicken, I suppose. Or would you have called me ‘beef’?” Felicity asked, laughing harder at the thought, her eyes almost leaking, her shoulders shaking as she gripped Oliver’s fingers and pulled him towards the building, her stomach grumbling. 

* * *

Oliver followed her to the restaurant, taking a seat outside under the umbrella and watched the twinkle in Felicity’s beautiful blue eyes as she ordered them some food. He loved making her laugh, and it wasn’t hard, as he had realized over the last month. But he loved the way her eyes crinkled and her entire body shook from the sounds she made, so open, so unguarded, the smell of the ocean on the breeze, the warmth of the sun upon them. 

He had understood the moment she had asked him about the nickname, with that hesitant tone of hers, that it had been something important to her. But before he could have replied, he had seen the woman eating in the dish and it had just fallen into place for him. Lobster.

Oliver leaned back in his chair as he saw a young, barely adolescent girl approach their table, a small square piece of paper clutched in her hand. She smiled at Felicity and handed her the paper, before giving him a small, shy smile and leaving. 

Felicity’s gasp of surprise had him turning back to her and he looked at the awed expression on her face as she flipped the paper towards him. And he blinked, surprise washing over him. 

It was a photograph of the two of them from just moments ago, when they had been outside, Felicity’s head bent and eyes scrunched closed in pure joy as she laughed and him smiling, looking at the building ahead where he knew the woman had been eating. He looked at his own face for a second, stunned, even now, at the happiness reflected on it in an unguarded moment, and at her, at how happy she was with him, and in that one second, that picture became his very favorite. 

Felicity looked at the girl and nodded her thanks, to which the girl nodded back, exchanging smiles, and Oliver saw the girl leave. He leaned back in his chair again, tucking the picture safely inside, as Felicity looked up at him, their gazes locking in one silent moment of understanding, of everything, before her cheeks flushed and she ducked her head, looking at the menu, making him smile. 

She started ribbing him after that, telling him he would have called her a banana had he seen that woman eating a banana in that moment, which slowly became a babble filled with more innuendos than he could count and less than she had to correct, something that always left him chuckling. And Oliver just gazed at her, something so  _profound_  filling his senses that he knew it wasn’t love. It was  _acute_. It was more.   

And he just gazed at her while she talked, laughing with her, letting her tease him, never telling her the one irrefutable fact of the universe. 

Lobsters mate for life. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	17. The Ring (Inspired by 4x01 trailer)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have lived with different ideas of rings.

* * *

 

When Felicity had been a little girl, there had been a story her mother had read to her every night. Felicity had never really cared much for the story, but when her mother had waved her hands, animated, the light glinting off her ring had always held her captive. Felicity had loved watching her mother fiddle with her ring, a shiny, pretty ring whose implications her baby mind had had no idea about. She had just loved watching her father kiss the ring as she giggled at them. But most of all, Felicity had believed it when her parents had told her, in her innocence, that she would have her own ring too one day.

The day her father had left, never to return, Felicity had seen her mother take off her ring for the first time. She hadn’t understood and had gone on waiting. But days had turned into weeks, and the man who had kissed the ring had never returned, and Felicity, the day she had accepted it, had started fearing rings. 

Rings had meant bonds. Bonds that always broke. 

That was what her mind had understood and she had left all her fancies behind, steeling herself and turning to things that couldn’t leave her. 

She had had her goth phase, but never wore rings at all. Her mother gifted her a ring for graduation, and she had put it in the bottom most corner of her drawer. She had become as allergic to rings as she had been to nuts. And exasperated by her behavior, her mother had asked her once, what she would do if a man ever proposed to her with a ring. 

_“If he’d still marry me without the ring, then I would accept.”_

It had been something crystal clear to her in her mind. Right till things became fuzzy.

Falling in love with Oliver had been a surprise. They had just always been them, so  _them_ , that by the time she had realized how deep she had been, there had been no turning back. Not that she would have turned back. Because Oliver had been Oliver and she had loved him like she had never fathomed she could love, never thought herself capable of the intensity of emotions she felt for him. But they had stopped before they could have started and rings had always seemed a universe away.  

It had been at Digg’s and Lyla’s wedding that something had shifted a bit. She had known Digg, known it had been his second marriage to the same woman, the woman on whose finger he had slid the ring for the second time. Felicity had known in her bones that Digg would mean those vows, that he would cherish that ring. And for the first time, she had wondered if Oliver would. Given his history of lack of bad relationships, she had had no idea. None. But he hadn’t been with any woman for almost a year, and she had known that he had loved her. Truly loved her. That had been more commitment, more fidelity than he had ever given anyone else. And that night, for the first time, she had felt off kilter about rings. 

Five months had flown away with him, in smiles and moans and screams and laughter. And everything had been like a dream, till tonight. 

Oliver had cooked dinner, set the table, lighted the entire room. It looked like something out of a dream and when she had asked, he had just kissed her, telling her it was just a date. But Felicity had known him long enough to see the nervousness in his movements, the slight tick in his jaw, the rubbing of his fingers together. And as she sat down, the suspicion started forming in her head. 

Oliver sat down before her, hands together, shoulders hunched and eyes nervous but very excited. He looked like he’d bounce in his chair if he could.   

Felicity narrowed her eyes, and waited for her suspicion to be confirmed. 

Just a little longer. 

* * *

Oliver remembered the first time he had visited the Queen family vault with his mother. He remembered seeing the pretty, shiny baubles that hadn’t really fascinated him much as he had walked down the aisle. He remembered taking in all the jewelry that had been in his family for generations, as his mother had told him not to play with anything. 

And he remembered, even today, the precise moment he had seen it. 

It had been sitting beside a necklace of blue and blazing silver, quiet, completely unnoticed. But Oliver had noticed it. He had been drawn to it. 

He had asked his mother if he could keep it for himself. She had laughed. “It’s a ladies’ ring, Oliver. It belonged to your great grandmother.”

Oliver had been unable to move his gaze from it, his desire for the ring something else entirely. His mother had agreed, perhaps thinking it had been a small thing after all. But Oliver had tucked it in his pocket, deciding to show it to Tommy and tell him that he too had a ring for his wife now, just like Tommy did. 

Oliver had been 10. 

Two decades had passed and he had changed from the boy who had run away with his girlfriend’s sister at the hint of commitment to the man who had stayed celibate for a woman who hadn’t even been his, yet somehow had always been only his.

And that ring, the one he had left in the secret compartment in his drawer when he had left on the Gambit, had stayed right there. By the time Oliver had been back, he had been disillusioned enough to know that that ring would always remain in that drawer. He hadn’t believed in rings then. His mother had not respected that ring, his father sure as hell not had. He had grown up in a world where the ring had only been a farce to uphold in the society, just a meaningless bauble to flaunt. 

More importantly, he had never had the urge to slide that ring on someone’s finger. Not until after Slade. 

He had wondered over the years, sometimes, when he had seen Felicity’s small fingers type away at the keyboard, wreaking havoc on criminals, how that ring would have looked on her hand, and had shaken off that thought almost as soon as it had come. 

But after Slade, it had gotten harder and harder to shake. It had started getting worse the day Sara had been born, the day he had witnessed Felicity smiling beside her and everything had felt so  _right._  But he had taken ten steps back, distancing himself for her safety. That longing had never become distant. By the time of Digg’s wedding, even though he had known he could never have one of his own, the longing inside him had become so acute, the hunger so gnawing, it had been agonizing. The ring had become his companion since then. 

The day he had married Nyssa, fake married her, while the woman who had meant everything to him had been unconscious in the dungeon, had been the day it had hit home for him. He had decided that if he ever got the chance, if he ever lived through everything, he would to slide that ring on her finger without waiting another day.

But he waited for five months, five happy months filled with her, with them. Just the two of them. 

And now, as he put the ring on the souffle, nostalgia hit him hard. Tommy had laughed when he had shown him the ring. 

“Your wife will like it, Ollie,” he had said. 

Oliver smiled a little, thinking of how Tommy would have liked this, how he would have loved Felicity, his throat tightening at how they had promised to be the best man at each other’s wedding. Shaking his head and the memories off, he took a deep breath, settling his nerves, and stepped outside with the tray, only to realize that the ring would have to stay with him longer. 

Just a little longer. 

* * *

Almost a year later, fingers tangled together, they looked at each other, Oliver’s finger rubbing over hers, tracing the ring she had accepted a month ago with his proposal and Oliver whispered. “I would have married you without the ring, you know.”

Felicity smiled, rubbing his nose with hers. “I know. That’s exactly why I’m marrying you with it.”

They smiled. 

Just a little longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	18. The Morning Afters (Inspired by 4x01 trailer)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have never really had any morning afters. Both POVs.

* * *

 

The first time Felicity had heard the word ‘sex’, she had been 12 and a mean girl in school had been telling her no one would ever want to have sex with her. As a curious little girl on the verge of adolescence, her interest had been piqued. She had gone home that day, not even thinking of the girl’s comment, and had researched sex. By the time she had finished reading her articles, she had been equally grossed out and equally fascinated. 

And then she had remembered the girl’s comment. 

Felicity had neglected the pinch and just gone about her life. But slowly, school life had become hell. No one could have picked on her brains as she had been taking advanced classes, and no one could pick on her since she had kept to herself. So, the bullies had picked on her, told her she was unattractive, told her she had a fat butt, told her she had no boobs, told her a lot of things. All of it combined had boiled down to one thing according to them- no one would want her. 

And to the girl whose father had left without any explanation on the day she had been bad, it had stuck. No one would want her. 

She had spiraled then. She hadn’t wanted anyone to want her, but the fact that there wasn’t even a chance had cut her. She had colored her hair, got her nose pierced, rebelled. She had completely changed who she had been and left high school years early to go to MIT. And there she had met Cooper. 

He had been smart, talked tech, and most of all, he had been interested in her. Somehow, she had managed to let her guard down with him, and for the first time, Felicity had had sex. 

It had been disappointing. She had been conscious the entire time and he had been too after his own needs but she had had an orgasm and that had been it. Before he could have pulled her though, Felicity had slunk out of the bed and had returned to her dorm. Since that night, she had enjoyed sex alright, even had fun, but she had never stayed for the after. Deep down, she had known why. She had been afraid that once the haze of lust cleared, it wouldn’t hold up. Yeah, she had had issues. 

After Cooper had gone, left, she had changed again, determined this time not to let any man dictate her worth. She had turned her life around and years and a few one night stands later, she had met Oliver Queen. 

Felicity wasn’t ashamed to admit that she had fallen in lust with him at first sight. Which had been a first for her. She had seen him in papers before he had gone missing, even had had a crush on him, but seeing him, all flesh and muscles and virility had tugged at the woman she had been ignoring for too long in her. 

And then she had seen him shirtless, working out, above her, beside her, and her fantasies had taken off. She hadn’t even tried to hide her appreciation by that point. It had been a given and Oliver had known it, seen it, and gobbled it up like the attention seeker he was sometimes. 

That lust had never really left, how could it? But something had grown between them deeper than the lust. Something more than friendship, toeing a very dangerous line neither of them had crossed. But she had known she had been important to him, and that in itself had been everything. Because being important to Oliver Queen was amazing, but being his partner, someone he relied upon, someone he trusted with his eyes closed? That had been the real gift. And before she had realized, Felicity had already been deep in love with him. 

And thoughts, wild dreams, of their morning afters, if they ever happened, had filled her. She had wondered if she would have been able to stay in bed with him. She had wondered if she would have wanted to leave like she had every other time with everyone else. Would he have made her feel conscious? Or would they have laughed it off like everything else? Questions, thoughts, had filled her and she had nursed them inside her, never giving them voice, basking in what she had rather than what she hadn’t.   

But it had hurt, seeing him in a relationship with Sara after telling her he couldn’t have been with someone he could have cared about. He had cared a lot about Sara and it had hurt because the voices from her past had filled her head, no matter how much she had silenced them. He hadn’t wanted her, not like that. 

Sara had left and Slade had gone. And they had begun toeing that dangerous line again, and he had leaned closer to crossing it than she had ever seen him. It had made her hope for something she hadn’t dared.  

And then she had had nothing. Because he had pulled away, taken away the one thing she had needed from him. He hadn’t left, but he had left. And the hurt Felicity had forgotten over the years had become a gaping wound, roaring for attention. 

Sleeping with Ray had been a reaction to Oliver. She had known that but she hadn’t cared. There had been a man who had wanted her for a long time and she had been so very tired. They had had sex. It had been great sex. But he had left minutes, right before Felicity could have gotten up. So she had slept and left later. 

But she had left. Every time. When it had come down to it, years of progress had meant nothing. 

And then, she had finally had Oliver in a way she had never thought possible. He had made love to her, over and over and over again, devoting the entire night to her, to them, telling her everything she had wanted to hear for so long. But it had been over too soon. 

And she had gotten up from the bed, leaving him to dress, because she had had to drug him. There had been no morning after for them, and the longing inside her had been so acute she had almost given in. 

The first time they had slept together after leaving Starling, the dormant urge to get up, after years of habit, the constant insecurity, the fear of that intimacy had come over her, despite knowing that Oliver had known her better than she had known herself. The moment she had started to get up, he had tugged her back, physically holding her in place, and had just looked at her, with those soft damn blue eyes, searching hers for whatever had been bothering her, stroking her chin with a finger in a way that had made her heart clench.

That had been the first night she had divulged her past to him, telling him stuff from school, telling him of her no morning after rule. He had smirked at that one. 

“So I’m your first?”

Felicity had laughed and relaxed into his body as he had kissed her head.

Now, as she blinked at him, after five months of morning and evening and noon and midnight afters, as he stroked her chin like he did immediately upon waking up, she smiled, at peace with herself for the first time in a long time, remembering the words that girl had once told her. 

_“No one will want you.”_

No one had to but him. Felicity felt Oliver gaze at her, be happy with her, let go with her. For the first time in years, Felicity had felt for the last five months, felt in that very moment, what she never could before without pain.   

She felt loved. 

He was her first. In every way that mattered.

* * *

The first time Oliver had had sex, it had been at a pool party when he had been 15 at a girl’s house. The moment they had been done, Oliver had smirked and left, to go find Tommy and tell him he had aced. Coincidentally, Tommy had too. 

Since that night, Oliver had become very interested in sex. He had fucked any willing girl in the most risque places and the most risque ways. He had come, conquered and left. Sometimes his shenanigans got publicity, sometimes they didn’t. Oliver hadn’t cared either way, hadn’t respected the girls either way. They had just been bodies to have fun with and he had known he had been an ass but they hadn’t minded so why should he have?

He had stayed miles away from nice girls, unless they had given him hints. Nerds, especially in high school, had either been repelled by him or attracted to him. He had just shrugged and gone through them, always grinning about it with Tommy afterwards. Morning afters had never featured on Oliver’s sex life. 

The only reason Oliver had pursued Laurel had been because she had been a smart challenge. He had chased her for a while and caught her and that had been it. Their relationship had begun before he had even known or assented to it, which was a reason why he had never really felt committed. He had still slept with girls, let Laurel shout at him, break up with him, only to make up a day later. It had been a douche thing on his part but he had never denied being one. 

Morning afters with Laurel had never happened because he hadn’t let them. Giving her any extra sign would have been a bond he had known he wouldn’t have carried, so he had always hightailed it out of her bed the moment they had been done, with some excuse or the other. 

And then he had been lost at sea. 

For the next five years, Oliver had had sex with a few women but there had never been any time for any kind of an after. They had always been on the run, always saving their lives, and sex had just been a release of pent up frustration and energy. 

He had slept with Helena after coming back, slept in her bed, hoping to change, to be a different man. But she had left before he could have and he hadn’t been able to save her from herself. 

He had left McKenna’s apartment immediately because the message on his phone had played and his heart had dropped because Felicity had been in danger. Then, when he had finally slept with Laurel, all he had felt had been slight guilt and when he had left that night after Felicity’s call, he had been slightly relieved to escape the dreaded wake up conversation, and her reaction to his scars had not been encouraging for him. He hadn’t been prepared. 

And then Tommy had died, thinking him a monster. And Oliver had lost a piece of himself with his best friend, the man who had been more than his brother. He had known, when he had run away, that he would never grace Laurel’s bed again. 

Isabel had been a disastrous mistake, even though she hadn’t seen the scars. Seeing Felicity outside his door, shocked and still giving him an out, had made him feel like a bigger ass than he had felt when he had been cheating on Laurel, which had made no sense at all. With Sara, it had never worked because they had both been two troubled souls just reasserting their lives with each other. 

In all that time, he had wondered a lot about Felicity’s bed, though no one except probably Diggle had suspected it. He had seen her wear colorful dresses and had wondered what colored sheets she had used. He had seen her come to the foundry with fuzzy socks and wondered how many blankets she had used. And the thoughts had surprised him, because though Felicity had been an extremely attractive woman and he had known she found him extremely attractive as well, scars and all, the thoughts had not just been lustful. His thoughts about her bed had been homely. Cozy. He had wondered how she had slept the previous night if she had complained of a crick in her neck, wondered how many pillows she had used, wondered a lot of things. He had wondered if she clutched at the sheets or pressed her head back in the pillow too. 

But for the first time, Oliver had respected a woman enough to never cross that line. He had had desires, yes. But she had been the one certainty in his crazy life that he could never have jeopardized. 

Ultimately, he had. By pushing her away. And int he following year, Oliver had realized he had not wanted to be in any bed but hers, realized that he wouldn’t leave it for anything in the world. 

And after a night culminating their love, their pent up desires, their need for each other, a night in which Oliver opened himself up more than he could have, just to show her everything he had dreamed over the months, after a night of moans and sighs, she had left the bed. Oliver had felt puzzled but goodbye had been inevitable and he had let her go, his heart ripping in his chest, knowing he could never see her again if his plan worked. 

But he had seen her. And they had left, finally to live, to love together. 

He looked at her now, at the lazy way she blinked in the morning light, a small satisfied smile on her lips, looked at her sun spun hair and her adorable little chin that he loved to stroke with his rough finger, looked at the way she stayed relaxed in the bed with him rather than jumping off like she had tried to do that one time in the beginning. 

She had told him she had never really had morning afters and Oliver had teased her. But he hadn’t told her he had never had morning afters too. Given his sexual history, he knew it would have been hard to believe, and more importantly, it didn’t matter. 

Right there, in that moment, Oliver had looked at her and seen what he had never expected, never hoped for in his life. He had felt loved. 

She was his first.

In every way that mattered. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	19. The Photoshoot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on the CW Promo picture. Both POVs.

* * *

 

Felicity had never enjoyed being in the limelight. All her life, she’d been content with being on the periphery, and when she had joined the team, she had been happy with being more central to only a group of people who had become friends and family. With them, being herself had never been an issue because she hadn’t known how to be anyone else.

The public was entirely a different matter. One of the reasons she’d hated becoming Oliver’s executive assistant had been the limelight that would be thrust upon her with that role. It had been, only to an extent. When she had become the VP of Palmer Tech, she’d very clearly told Ray that apart from the name-changing thingy, she wouldn’t be doing any press related activities at all. He had been more than happy to accommodate her and she had stayed in the background, doing her magic.

But this was different. This was everything Felicity never wanted. This was a _nightmare_.

She stood rigid, trying to contain the nerves threatening to overtake her, facing the camera crew in the converted studio in the building, where the shoot was happening. The shoot for a very prestigious magazine doing a cover on sharp, business women, among whom Felicity Smoak ruled the list. She was happy about that. She was even okay with an interview. What she was not okay with, however, was the dang photoshoot. She had to stand alone with all eyes trained on her and pose and just… she  _shuddered_.

Her palms were sweating more than they had when she had flown in Ray’s suit to save Oliver’s fantastic ass. Oliver’s ass.  _Think of his ass._  His face when she dug her heels into it. His smile when she groped it.  _His ass. His ass._

It worked for all of two seconds.

“Ms. Smoak, we are ready whenever you are.”

Fuck. Her hands shook and she stood frozen, unable to move an inch. She had to do this. She was the youngest female CEO to a billion dollar company with the highest IQ ever. She was the partner to the city’s many heroes. She went toe to toe with the man who put the fear of god into people on a daily basis. She could tackle a simple photoshoot.  

Or maybe not.

Swallowing, she almost took a step when she felt a familiar hand slide around her waist, and her heart slowed down slightly as her nerves settled, inhaling the familiar scent of safety and home. And then her heart melted, because he was there and that meant he had cancelled his own meetings to be there. She looked up to see Oliver smile down at her, his delicious scruff littering his jaw, his blue eyes gleaming with pride and that something soft only reserved for her.

She exhaled, gripping his forearm.

“Any tips from the man who spent his formative years in front of a camera?” she asked on a nervous laugh, and his eyes searched hers before he leaned down, his lips brushing her ears.

“Just keep your eyes on me.”

The whisper, just in the tone he used when they were alone, fired her blood, making her heart pound with something else.

She bit her lip, then nodded and steeled her spine. Inhaling deeply, she walked towards the wide stairs.

* * *

Oliver pushed his hands in his pockets, watching as she walked to the stairs, a little worried. He had known how much Felicity hated being pictured. It had taken a long time for him to get her comfortable in photographs with him, but this was something else entirely. Which was why he’d known he had to be here, his meetings be damned. This was a huge moment for her, in her career, and he was so damned proud of her he felt like he would burst.

But she had always been skittish around lime lights, and sitting there alone would not be helping her. Oliver had grown up with all eyes on him, so he rarely even blinked at the flashes anymore. But she never had. This was completely new, and different for her. And he would walk her through it, just like she walked him through every mission every night.

He saw the photographer settle her on the stairs, saw the rigid line of her body and the way she kept wringing her hands, and he took a deep breath, walking to right behind the camera.

He saw her eyes find him, flare momentarily in surprise at seeing him right behind the camera, and he stifled a smile, keeping their eyes locked. Oliver kept looking at her, tilting his head slightly, letting his eyes rove over her. He saw the heels she wore, the same ones she had been wearing that night in the Arrow Cave when he had pinned her against the wall as soon as everyone had gone home. It had been a fantastic night, like every night with her was. His eyes moved up slowly, taking his time, seeing her bare legs, legs he loved having wrapped around his hips as he thrust into her, wrapped around his head as he buried his mouth in her flesh. The hem of the deep blue dress she wore stopped at her knee, but Oliver knew the thighs under, knew each and every inch of those thighs better than she did. He let his perusal take its time, going up the juncture of her legs to her stomach to her breasts as they heaved, up her neck.

His eyes locked with hers again, and he didn’t mask the hunger he knew would be on his face, didn’t mask the desire of exactly what he wanted to do to her, right on those stairs, didn’t hide anything from her at all. And he saw her eyes heat, the animal in her responding to the animal in him, the woman in her responding to the man in him, as she loosely held a finger and looked at him, letting him know exactly what she wanted to do to him right then.

He was aware of the flashes going off, but he never looked away and neither did she, a sensuous smile on her lips, that predatory look in her eyes that inflamed his blood, his breathing getting heavier.

People kept talking, the photographer kept clicking, and they never looked away, the battle of wills with their eyes too engrossing for them to stop, he showing her that he was on the prowl and she rebuking it with her eyes.

It was over in five minutes, and he saw her stand up, sensuously, and walk towards him, the sway of her hips making his blood roar and trousers tight. And the fact that the world will see the pictures, see the gorgeous woman, and never know what put that look on her face, the fact that it was just their secret thrilled him. 

Without a word, she took his hand and tugged him towards the elevator, ignoring the people behind her who he saw her assistant managing just fine.

They stepped into the elevator and she turned to him, a wicked smile on her lips, her thumb rubbing circles on his hand.

“I realized something today, Oliver,” she said, her voice low and husky.

“What?” he asked, his own voice low.

She stood on her toes, her lips brushing his lobe, and whispered. “I like photoshoots.”

The doors closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	20. Against The Pillar (4x01 Missing Scene - Explicit)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smutty continuation of the last kiss in 4x01.

* * *

Felicity pushed him back against the pillar, their lips coming apart, joining again, smiling and locking together. His hands wandered under her dress, cupping her butt in a move that always made her breath catch, his grip the only kind of possessiveness he allowed himself usually. His rough fingers teased the skin at the edge of her panties, their breaths mingling harder as her blood heated, the small tracing motion making her core tighten as desire coiled low in her belly. 

Oliver leaned against the pillar of the loft, widening his stance and Felicity pulled back, breathing heavily, his hot eyes and blown pupils sending a current right to her core. Oliver kept looking at her, his chest heaving, and Felicity felt his fingers twist the underwear, pulling it down in one motion, dropping it on the floor. 

“Here?” he asked in a hoarse voice that tugged right in her groin. 

“Here,” she replied, her breasts heavy, nipples aching as they pressed into his chest. 

Before she could blink, he picked her up in one of those crazy moves she’d fantasized about for years while watching him work out, and one of those moves that always shot her O-meter right through the roof no matter how many times he demonstrated it. 

She expected him to turn her around and push her against the pillar. She expected him to hike her legs up and open her while filling her with screams. She expected him to cup her ass with both hands and hold her still while he drove into her. 

But Oliver did none of those things. Felicity blinked in surprise as she felt his naked erection against her thigh as her legs wrapped around his waist. His big, rough hand came to grip the back of her head, his blue eyes blazing with that combination of lust and love that made her heart pound, that combination of wild and soft that made her throb. 

“Oliver?” she murmured, not understanding what he would do. 

“Patience, Felicity,” he whispered softly, and Felicity groaned, feeling his length rub against her small nub, sending thrill of pleasure over her nerves. 

“Screw patience,” she panted, moving her hips to get more friction. “Actually, screw me. Now.” 

His lips quirked up even as his eyes glazed, that primal look in them making her heart batter like a ram. 

She felt his other hand settle on her butt as he lifted her a little higher, his erection pulsing right against her entrance, their eyes locked. And in one smooth motion, he thrust up just as he pulled her down. 

Felicity cried out, her head falling back as intense sensations assailed her, her walls clamping on his length and eyes closing as her fingers dug into his shoulders for support. Before she could catch her breath, Oliver lifted her again with one hand, pulling her lips down on his with the other, sliding almost completely out of her, before suddenly impaling her down on him, his hips bucking up into her, her loud cries drowned against his tongue. 

Picking up the motion, he repeated it again, and again, and again, lifting her and pulling her down, pulling out and thrusting up, the angle allowing him to move so much deeper inside her, pleasuring nerves she didn’t know she possessed. 

Her walls clenched around him, again and again, with each motion of his hips, convulsing around his erection as it slid home again and again, her eyes closed, small bursts of pleasure assaulting her, combining into a tighter fold, making her whimpers get louder and louder. Felicity pulled away from his tongue, openly panting, hearing Oliver’s own ragged breaths matching hers, his arms never stopping, his hips never pausing in their pistoning. 

“We…  _ah…_  really have…  _oh my god…_  to do this…  _ah.._  in the Arrow cave,” Felicity breathed out in between gasps. 

Oliver buried his face in her neck, laving the her skin with little bites. “Wherever you want.”

“Where..  _oh Oliver_ … do you want?” 

“Everywhere.”

Felicity’s walls clamped around him at his guttural growl, and suddenly, the sensations inside her intensified in that familiar but addicting way, the friction between their bodies making her simper in pleasure. 

She bit her lip, gasping as Oliver kept hitting the small spot he had discovered inside her, a spot so sensitive to his touch it could trigger beasts of orgasms, and had, much to Oliver’s pleasure. 

“Fuck, I’m going to come,” she uttered beside his head, her hand grasping him for support as her hips started thrusting back on their own, her other hand going between their bodies to rub on her clit, knowing he would never drop her, her finger furiously moving over the bundle of nerves. 

“Then fucking come,” Oliver growled against her jaw, his teeth nipping the skin and Felicity felt her toes curl in her heels, the heat infusing in her blood as it started from where her finger rubbed her clit and where Oliver moved and moved and hit her so  _hard_ with each damn thrust and her walls started quivering around his shaft but he kept pumping it in and out and in and out and up and down and up and down and never stopped and oh lord she….

With a mangled scream, Felicity felt wave after wave of intense pleasure wash over her, felt Oliver’s arm wrap around her body, pulling her right into his chest as he pulsed inside her, twitching, and came with a raw sound from his chest, his face buried in her neck, his cock spasming inside her trembling walls, filling her with his essence, her own hands wrapped around his neck. 

They breathed heavily for long seconds, staying locked together, not moving, just coming from the high they got every single time. 

And then, Felicity realized with disbelief that Oliver had fucked her with only his strength, standing against the pillar, moving her up and down without even using his other hand. 

“You seriously just did that?” she spoke, her voice stunned. 

Oliver looked at her, a small smile on his lips, slowly turning wider as he turned them. “I can do a lot more.”

Felicity felt the pillar against her back as he turned them, and smiled, pulling him closer. “Prove it.” 

Oliver grinned, and proceeded to. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	21. Upside Down Kisses (Inspired by 4x06 Yin Yang Kiss)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity has always had a thing for upside down kisses.  
> Based on the upside down Olicity kiss in the promo.

  


* * *

Oh it has been a thing for Felicity. Even before she saw Spiderman. She’d read a sappy romance novel that she can’t even remember the name of but that had been her introduction to upside down kisses. She hadn’t been able to imagine it properly then because  _how could people be upside down and kiss, right?_  She’d just been a 10-year-old, despite her super intelligent mind. And she’d been more curious than anything.

Spiderman came out when she’d been 12 and she’d gone to see it with her Mom on her one off day. And that day had marked a change in Felicity Smoak. She had realized, as she’d watched Mary Jane kiss Peter Parker in a costume in the rain, that she wanted it. She wanted the entire thing. That had become her number one fantasy. But for that she needed a boyfriend. 

Which had to wait until college. And Cooper had been many things, but flexible he had been not. The fantasy had been put on hold. After Cooper, she hadn’t really gone out much. Hadn’t even wanted to. 

Until Oliver Queen. 

The first time Felicity Smoak saw Oliver Queen hang from a beam upside down, she knew she was in a truckload of trouble. There he was, all sweaty muscles and kissable lips, upside down. He even had a costume, for goodness’ sake!

For years, she watched him do exercises mere mortals could never even fathom, watched him sweat above and behind and beside and below her, watched him twist and turn and punch and kill dummies. And with each drop of sweat, her will power dwindled. There he’d been, the man of her fantasies, of her fantasy kisses, and there she’d been, a sitting dummy just staring at him. 

Being in a relationship with Oliver changed things. A lot of things. Mainly kisses galore. 

The first time Felicity finally had her Spiderman kiss, she’d stunned Oliver. 

It had been the second month after they’d moved in, and Oliver’d finally decided to get into rigorous exercises. He’d found a sturdy branch of a tree in the lawn and started working out. Felicity had been ogling him from the kitchen, admiring the muscles she could now lick and taste whenever she wanted, admiring the flex and the twitch of the said muscles, when her heart had stopped. Because Oliver had locked his legs on a tree branch, and hung himself upside down. The moment Felicity had seen it, control evaporated. She’d marched across the lawn, a woman on a mission, everything else be damned, and seen his eyes widen in surprise at her. 

“Felicity…”  


She’d gripped his face, standing on her toes to get their lips level, and kissed him right on the mouth, tasting the sweat, opening his mouth with her tongue…

And Oliver had fallen down. 

Felicity still laughed at the stunned look on his face, although she didn’t know whether he’d been stunned at her actions or the fact that he’d fallen on his ass. But Oliver had sat there, just blinking at her for long seconds while she’d laughed at his expression.

The second time she’d had the upside down kiss,  _she_  had been upside down and scared shitless. It’d been a quiet night, till it had been not. Mrs. Hoffman’s cat had climbed up their tree, and her Tarzan had been out grocery shopping, so Felicity, brave Felicity, had ventured up. Oliver had done it all the time so how hard could it have been, right?  _Wrong._  It’d been hard. Very hard. And the cat had jumped down and Felicity had lost her questionable balance, fallen, her legs stuck, dangling from the branches, shrieking very unattractively. 

Oliver had come out at that point, his body alert, and she’d seen the exact moment he’d seen her. He’d stared for a second, blinking at the sight she’d made, with her t-shirt exposing her midriff, aided by gravity, and her purple panties with pink hearts on display. He’d stared, and then grinned. 

“Oliver, get me down  _right now,_ ” she’d screamed, her fear of heights propelling her voice to break. 

“I’m just enjoying the view,” he’d said, amusement rife in his tone.   


Felicity had glared. “You won’t be getting any view for months if you don’t get me down, mister.”

He’d chuckled, and walked to her then, sauntered, and stopped right in front of her, smiling, tilting his head to the side. 

And then Felicity had felt his lips, right against hers - his soft lips locking with hers, his tongue tasting the inside of her lower lip, his teeth tugging on it. Felicity had moaned, holding his shoulders for support, and he’d slanted his lips more fully at the sound, kissing her ruthlessly while she hung from the tree, her toes curling even as blood rushed to her head. 

She’d have fallen down too had she not been stuck. 

The third time, she’d been sitting in her chair. Oliver had come behind her, tilted her head up and his mouth had been on hers before she’d even blinked. He’d given her thorough, very thorough kisses, and walked off like he hadn’t just rocked her world. 

She’d stopped keeping count after that. Felicity knew Oliver had figured out her thing for upside down kisses pretty early. Those kisses became pretty normal after a point, sometimes just in the middle of the day, sometimes before they 69′d each other. 

As she walked in the quiet bedroom of their new home, she saw him lying on the bed, half asleep, his head near the foot of the huge bed, and she smiled, walking silently to him. Watching his beautiful face, she lay down beside him but in reverse, and adjusted, putting her face level with his, and very softly kissed his scruffy chin. 

He made a rumbling noise in his chest, like he always did when he slept, and she smiled, kissing his chin again, feeling the scruff rasp against her lips, sending tingles right to her toes. 

She saw his eyes blink open lazily, saw him smile and close his eyes again, before his lips took hold of her lower lip, nibbling on it just as lazily. 

Felicity smiled against his mouth, returning his lazy kisses, making sounds she knew aroused him, holding all her fantasies in the palm of her hands.   

* * *

There has not been much Oliver Queen has not done, sexually speaking. He’s not proud of it like he once had been, and he’s not ashamed of it either. It’s a part of his past, and it gives him the knowledge of making the one woman he loves scream, so it’s not a bad thing at all. 

But the one thing he’d never done, till Felicity made him fall on his ass, was kiss upside down. In his defense, he never watched Spiderman so he had no clue. And kisses, as it is, had never been as important for him as everything else. 

But Felicity had marched right up to him and taken his face in her hands and before Oliver had known, he’d been getting kissed and the blood had rushed to his head in double speed. And he’d fallen. Not his most proud moment either. 

A few days later, though, Felicity had put in Spiderman at night and curled up next to him. And Oliver had watched the movie with okay interest. Until the kiss. He’d watched the kiss, and looked at Felicity, who’d been flushed and deliberately not looking at him, and he’d understood. 

Felicity had wanted that kiss. 

Remembering all the times she’d stared at him over the years while he exercised, Oliver had smiled to himself and tugged her closer. Opportunity had presented itself when he’d returned one night, to hear her screams. Although, at that moment, his blood had frozen and he’d rushed out, ready to kill. And then he’d seen her. 

She’d been dangling from the tree in the backyard, her entire stomach exposed along with her legs, her purple underwear with pink hearts cooling him down and amusement replacing the nerves inside him. He’d been sure there would be a fascinating story as to how she ended up on the tree, but seeing her there, waiting for him to rescue her, had made Oliver realize it had become a fantasy for him too. 

So, he’d walked to her and taken her face in his hands, locking their lips together before she could’ve said a word. The angle had been different, but had allowed him to kiss her in a way he never had. So, he had. Thoroughly. Kissed every inch of her mouth he’d been able to reach, spurred on by the mewling noises she’d made.

That had also been the first time he’d 69′d her, incredibly aroused by the upside down kiss, his mind becoming adventurous in all things upside down, since he’d known she had a thing for them. It had been her first 69 ever. 

Since then, he kissed her upside down every time he could. Sometimes she sat on a chair and he kissed her. Sometimes it was just lying down on the bed. 

One of his favorites were the standing kisses. The height difference between them had always been so incredibly erotic, that sometimes he sneaked up behind her and tilted her neck, while he stood on his toes, and they kisses, just like that. She was short enough that it was possible. 

Sometimes, she came home, after a long day at work, and snuggled beside him on the bed, kissing his jaw before his lips. Those were the times he felt most at peace, happy, half asleep while she woke him up with small kisses that became more on some nights and just remained on some. 

Now, as he got ready to hit the streets for the night, while she typed away on the computer, an idea hit him. 

Keeping his eyes on her, he went to the training area, and put his quiver and bow away, hooking his legs around a metal beam, already in his suit, and looked at Felicity. 

“Ollie, what are…” 

He heard Thea speak and Felicity turn. He kept his eyes on her, seeing the way she blinked in surprise before a smile curved her lush lips and she stood up. He hung quietly, a smile on his lips, watching her walk towards him. She came to a stop right in front of his face, and he adjusted, getting his own level with hers. 

“You’re crazy,” Felicity whispered, before kissing him softly, his hands gentle on his jaw. Oliver felt his heart pound like every time it did, holding the beam for support, kissing her back fervently. 

She pulled back after a while, blinking up at him with dazed eyes, a soft smile on her face. “Hurry back home.”

Oliver got down on his legs, kissing her one more time, and left, his heart bursting and looked at Thea’s bland face. 

“I cannot believe you two did a Spiderman,” Thea spoke, utterly disgusted. “Seriously, Ollie?”

Oliver grinned, bickering back with her as he walked out of the lair, ready to hurry back home.  

  


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	22. Muscle Memory (5x01 Oneshot - Explicit)

 

 

* * *

 

He knew she was behind him.

Moving. Leaning. Gesturing.

Every cell in his body was aware of every single cell in hers. There were not many people Oliver Queen gave his back to without feeling threatened. He gave her his back.

She kept talking and he kept breathing her floral scent in, the sound of her voice flowing over his muscles, reigniting memories. Muscle memories. Of the way he used to turn around in the chair, spread his legs and pull her in between them, nuzzling her soft breast, rubbing his scruff against that spot that made her leave this little sigh- a spot he’d discovered completely by accident when he’d hugged her in bed one day.

His mind had never forgotten. Nor had his muscles. Not the way he used to move above her in the way that made her thighs clench over his hips. Not the way he flexed his back against her little, talented fingers. Not the way their lips always connected along with those muscles.

The very muscles he kept completely still, trying to appear relaxed.

But his ever alert senses knew that if he turned, her breasts would be right on his hungry mouth. If he nibbled on them for a minute the way she loved, he knew she would be soaking wet. If he tested that moisture with his nimble fingers, she’d explode like fireworks in his arms.

He’d forgotten the number of times he’d done the exact same thing to her. But his muscles remembered all the different ways he’d done it.

They combined now, knowing exactly where the zipper of the dress was located. He knew exactly the kind of bra she wore with this kind of dress. He knew exactly the color of that bra. He knew of so many ways to take her without spoiling that dress.

Like pushing her skirt up over her thighs and making her sit on the table with her legs spread open while he sat in the chair, devouring the taste of her. Like pulling her forward and making her straddle him in a way he slipped smoothly inside her without either of them entirely removing their clothes. Like pushing her face down on the table and getting all that adrenaline out of both their systems from behind, that delicious ass which had been tempting him for days moving with his hips, red from the grip of his fingers.

But much, much more than any other muscle, it was the one in his chest that remembered the most, making him want to just pull her down and taste those succulent lips for hours like he’d loved to do, loosening her hair from her ponytail and massaging her scalp with his fingers the way she’d loved him doing, all the while their tongues entwined, speaking in their own language, a language the muscles of their mouths had invented.

And she was the most powerful of all the scars on his muscles because she had not embedded herself on him with pain. She had down it with pleasure, with love.

She’d told him they weren’t going back. Well, they would go forward.

Because if Oliver Queen knew one thing, he knew muscle memory never failed, even when the mind’s did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	23. Only One Thing (5x02 One Shot - Explicit)

 

 

* * *

 

_“I think you’re missing something.”_

He knew it better than she did. 

He remembered the soft moments of the night when he’d opened up about his past to her, the moments spent by her fingers caressing his naked scars, their bodies joined as their souls connected, deep in those nights. 

She’d always held him closer on those nights, pulling him into her body when he’s done revealing whatever he had. She’d pull him into her body and he move inside her, slowly, carefully, savoring the sensation of having her walls clench around him, their lips locking together, moving apart, sharing one breath, two, before coming together again. He’d move slowly and after a while, she’d urge him to go quicker with her body, her nails scratching his back, her hips thrusting back into him, her thighs squeezing the life out of his hips. 

The tone of their lovemaking always changed then, became cruder, more vulgar, more explicit, as his own open wounds sought retaliation and her compassion needed to soothe him. The serenity always faded into a wild mating frenzy, where moans turned to screams and growls and kisses became nips and bites, where pecks became hickeys along the skin and their hips never stopped trying to attain that explosion of intense pleasure they knew with each other. 

His hands always gripped her hair by the end of it, his natural dominance making him tug her head back as his scruff left beard burns everywhere along her skin, his mouth eating her taste into himself while she reciprocated, giving him access to everything he needed and taking more from him, her small teeth taking a bite out of his bicep beside her head, her warm hips welcoming ever single pounding his hips gave hers. 

And while Oliver always loved handing over his control to her, seeing her bloom in the bedroom like she did, on these nights, she never did. And that was what he loved about her the most, that she understood a need in him that even he didn’t, and didn’t question it. Just accepted it with open arms.

He watched her now as she looked around, the green light bouncing off her glowing skin, and thought how simple it would be to pin her against that pillar and take her right there. Had he been the Oliver of the old, he would have seduced her. But he wasn’t. He was a changed man. And despite understanding the language her eyes spoke every time they locked with his, he wasn’t going to initiate it. 

He needed one indication from her, one solid move that would tell him she would welcome his advances and he would be all over her faster than Barry Allen ran across a park. 

_He was missing one thing, and one thing only - her._

_And he needed one thing, and one thing only - a sign._  

So he tilted his head, pinning her with the look he knew she recognized, understood and reacted to deep in her bones, the look that told her how hungry he was and how delicious she looked, the look of lust and love and longing all rolled into one, and spoke :

 _“Only one thing.”_  

The ball was in her court.

* * *

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	24. Russian Vodka (5x03 Missing Scene)

 

* * *

 

It was the sharp scent of vodka that hit him first. 

Oliver frowned, slowing down as he walked around the corner, his hands still greasy from motorbike oil, after having sent Lyla home for the night. 

His eyes moved around the dimmed lights in the _Arrow cave_ (and he did call it that in his head), lights he’d dimmed because he’d decided to have an early night and catch some sleep for once. 

His forearm throbbed against the bandage and he twisted his arm to relieve the ache, his eyes wandering around, trying to locate the source of the scent of vodka.

Noiselessly walking up the stairs to the computers, his eyes honed in on the source. 

_A source under the computer table._

_A source humming some off beat tune._

_A drunk source in a pink dress and fuck-me heels._

His lips twitched even as his brows furrowed at finding Felicity there, under the table, of all places. _Was she fixing something?_

He walked towards the table, eyed her chair rolled to the left, and pulled it behind him, sitting down quietly, just observing her _(something that he absolutely loved to do. He’d never known a human face had been capable of so many expressions till he’d seen her, and over the course of the years, he still had no idea what kind of face she would make for what kind of news)_. 

Her legs were folded under her, her head hanging as her fingers clung to the mouth of the bottle, shoulders slumped in defeat. Oliver knew something had been bothering her for a while, knew he had lost his right to ask but also knew that she would tell him, in her own time, so he hadn’t pressed. 

Oliver watched patiently as her head lifted slightly, her eyes stopping on his shoes as she blinked adorably _(he never thought he’d use the word, not until he met her),_ once, twice, before slowly, very slowly, perusing his jeans covered thighs, lingering on his hips _(not the best thing given the position she was in)_ , his torso, his neck, eyeing that vein on the side he knew she loved, and finally came to rest on his eyes. 

He raised an eyebrow. 

She blinked again. 

“Was god drinking Russian vodka when he made you?” she slurred, her voice barely audible. Oliver deliberately kept his face stoic. 

“I stole your vodka btw,” she whispered secretively, looking around as though someone would hear. 

He bit the inside of his cheek from smiling. “I can see that,” he whispered back.

She nodded seriously. “I know you only drink vodka with John. And since he is not here, I decided to pay some attention to this poor, neglected bottle,” her words mixed slightly as she mumbled, and Oliver faked seriousness. 

“That’s a very good thing you did, Felicity.”

Silence. 

“I also did a _very bad thing,_ Oliver.”

The pain in her whispered words made him alert, his muscles tensing. She wasn’t supposed to feel any more pain than she already had. That was for him and him only. Not her. _Never her._  

Oliver waited, willing himself to stay relaxed, to let her talk. 

She brought the bottle to her lips, took a long swallow and heaved in a loud breath, hiccuping on a sob. 

“I killed so many people,” she spoke in that broken, whispered voice, tears streaming down her face. “I killed so many sons and daughters and parents. Rory’s entire family, friends, everyone gone because I hit a button and made it so. Who made me god? How could I decide which place to kill? I told him the truth tonight and the look on his face. Oh, god  _Oliver._..”

Oliver gripped the edge of the chair, swallowing down the urge to take her in his arms and shield her from all the pain. God, she astounded him. Her strength knocked him down every single time. The fact that it had barely been a few days since Rory came on and that she’d confessed the truth, given him closure and herself that clarity, shamed him in so many ways for so many of his mistakes.

“I’m glad you told him,” he told her, the conviction in his voice audible to even his own ears. “But it wasn’t your fault, Felicity. Sometimes there is no right choice. There’s only wrong and less wrong. We just have to choose and live with it.”

God, he could count the number of choices he’d had to make like those. _Sara or Shado? Lie or not lie? Kill Slade or let him live? Be with Felicity or not be with Felicity? Trust again or not trust again?_ The list never ended…

Felicity looked down at his shoes for a long moment. “But how do you live with it, Oliver?” She moved her eyes to his, blinking at her tears. “How do you live every day, staring at the mistakes you made, knowing that you’d still make the same choice again if given a second chance? How do you live with that guilt of doing the wrong thing but knowing you’d still do it? How?”

Oliver swallowed. How did he? He honestly didn’t know. Some days it became clear, some days just dragged. How did he?

“John told me something back when I’d returned,” he spoke. “That we can stare down death with something to live for, or not.” He took a deep breath. “ _Something to live for_ is better.”

Felicity stared down at the floor again. “But how can I live knowing so many people died because of my actions? What do I live for? For _that?_ ”

Unable to hear that agony in her voice, Oliver leaned forward, forgetting the grease on his hands and all the distance they’d been keeping between them, leaned forward in the chair and took a hold of her face in his hands, just like he’d done the first time he’d kissed those lips, and tilted her head back, locking their eyes together. 

“You live for our mission,” he murmured quietly, forcefully, to let her understand this. “You live because you are the bravest person I know, and it’s that strength which guides me and this team and saves a million lives every single day. You live because without you, everyone we know, everyone we don’t, every single person of this city would have died ten times over. You live, because you are much bigger, much stronger than your mistakes, Felicity.”

Oliver saw her lips tremble as she hiccuped, a small smile turning her lips up. “That was a pretty good speech.”

Oliver felt his lips turn up, remembering the same words in this same place, but such a different time. “Yeah.”

Felicity wiped her eyes with her free hand, her blue eyes shining as she stared back at him while he still held her face. He didn’t want to let go. He wanted to lean a little bit closer and brush her lips with his. He wanted to taste the strawberry of her lipstick and feel her breaths against him. He wanted _so many things._

But there was something else she wasn’t telling him, something holding her back.

She would tell him, in time.

Leaning forward slightly, he brushed her nose with his, in a way they’d always done together, closing his eyes, savoring the sensation and murmured into the space between them. 

“You live for _me,_ Felicity.”

_And I live for you._

He knew she heard what he left unspoken. She always did. 

Felicity hiccuped, smiling, giving him a slight squeeze. “Thank you.”

Oliver chuckled and sat back, shaking his head. “Let’s finish the bottle.”

“Why, Mayor Queen, are you trying to take advantage of me?” Felicity asked in a high pitched voice, wiggling her eyebrows.    

Oliver felt himself grin. “Why, would you let me, Ms. Smoak?”

Felicity grinned, her eyes sparkling as she passed the bottle to him, keeping her eyes on his. 

Oliver accepted the bottle, took a healthy swig, felt the burn down his throat, his eyes on her. 

_And on went the night._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, check out my other stories if you liked this. :)
> 
> Come say Hi to me on
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	25. Zippers and Hands (5x03 Oneshot - Explicit)

 

 

* * *

  

His hand was miserable. 

_Absolutely, utterly miserable._

And it wasn’t because of the long gash that just burned like a fucker. No. The problem wasn’t in his forearm at all. It was the constant, nagging itch in his palm, the twitching in his fingers. 

It hadn’t started the moment she had entered the basement, and he’d seen that dress. It hadn’t started when she’d stood beside him and teased him about Shakespeare. _Oh no._

It had started the moment she’d turned around to walk to her computers.

That was exactly the moment Oliver had felt his brain groan in his head and his fingers twitch. Because the dress, which had clung to every single curve of her body with delightful intimacy, had a zipper. 

A zipper that stopped right above her ass. 

 _God,_ he’d take a Mirakuru soldier any day over this.

Zippers had always been their thing. Felicity had not really worn dresses with proper zips until they’d happened. And after that, the zippers had always been a tease. 

Because she knew it drove him out of his mind. His hands loved nothing more than slowly unwrapping her body to his eyes, caressing every curve like the curve of a beautiful bow, every portion of skin revealed a treasure.

His fingers loved nothing more than the pleasure of pulling on a tab, to see the glorious skin that was a gift to his scarred flesh every time. Sometimes, he’d ripped the zip line right in two if she’d teased him with it. Some days, he’d taken special care not to destroy the dress. 

But every time, it had been a bridge to something far more ecstatic. His hands had become conditioned, in a manner of speaking, to undo zippers. 

Now, he just watched as her hips swayed, the line of that zipper laughing at him.

Oliver remembered the red dress she’d worn at the Christmas holiday party, remembered the zip it had, going all around her body and ending at the split in her thigh. He remembered taking her home and sliding that zipper slowly upwards, revealing every inch of luscious skin, devouring it with his eyes before his hands had taken control. He remembered going down on his knees, pulling one of her legs over his shoulder as he’d kissed the inside of her thigh, nipping it with his teeth, all the while watching her, watching her eyes roll back into her head, watching her breasts heave under that dress as his mouth had gotten closer and closer to the juncture of her thighs. 

And the entire time he’d devoured her like a hungry man finding a feast, right against the wall beside the door, with her hands gripping his hair as she’d moaned and thrashed against the bricks, his hands had been playing with that zipper that had teased him throughout the night, turning her on even more than she’d already been. 

Oliver looked at her back as she bent over in her chair, the line of the zipper stark against the blue fabric, and felt his hands itch. 

God, it’d be so easy to just give that thing a light tug, to slowly drag it down the line of her spine, parting the fabric to reveal her supple back that he loved to stroke in that way that made her purr. It’d be so easy to release the catch of her bra and plant small, little love bites along that spine, reaching down to the dimples right above her ass, caressing them with his hands. 

He remembered doing the same countless times, leaning down to press a little kiss on her head as she typed away and did her thing, his hands tugging her zipper in a promise of lips and fingers, of what was to come soon. Pun intended. 

His fingers itched, the urge to just touch her so strong his hand almost lifted. 

He pulled it back, shifting slightly to the side, pushing aside temptation and focusing on her words. 

But his eyes drifted again to that small metal tab. 

His hands clenched to fists.

_Fucking zipper._

* * *

__

_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, check out my other stories if you liked this. :)
> 
> Come say Hi to me on
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	26. The Arrow Voice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A ficlet about Oliver Queen's lowered voice and its effects on Felicity Smoak.

   


  


* * *

It started as a game. 

Felicity had always acted cool about it, but Oliver knew that every time he spoke in that rough, deliberate “Green Arrow” voice of his, it made her shiver - not with fear like the rest of the population, but with a little arousal. 

Oliver had noticed it long before they got together. The first time it had happened, they had been on the comms and Oliver had issued a command when he’d heard her breath catch for a small second before she had started talking in his ear. 

That hitch in her breath had made her curious. So, the next time, he’d done it deliberately and heard the same small catch in her breath. By the third time, Oliver had known - his Arrow voice turned her on, not the one with the modulator, but the one he deliberately deepened to a lower pitch. 

For a long time, he’d kept this knowledge with himself, not knowing what to do with it except let it sit in the back of his mind, maybe to be used someday, if ever. 

That someday came a week into their road trip after they got together. 

They had been cuddling in bed while Felicity had been trying to tickle him, and he’d just involuntarily growled at her and she’d stilled above him, the sheet half on her body, half off, and so had Oliver. He’d seen her breasts heave as she’d stared at him, and he’d stared back, knowing, seeing, reveling. 

And then she’d swallowed, licked her lips, and whispered, “Do that thing again.”

Oliver had stared at her while blood had rushed through his body, and let out a sound deep from his chest without even trying, the arousal thickening it. 

She had gone feral, climbing on top of him while attacking his lips with hers, taking a hold of his face and taking in all his sounds into herself. 

Their lovemaking had never been as crude as it had been that day, years of her fantasies and his knowledge colliding in a mass of limbs and sweaty flesh and whimpered moans.

Since then, Oliver had used it shamelessly, relentlessly, unequivocally. 

He’d deliberately used his lowered voice on the comms, knowing she’d be wet in her chair just remembering all the things it had led to. He’d deliberately lowered his voice when he went between her thighs, feeling what it did to her against his tongue in glorious detail. 

And it had become a game. 

Like Felicity coming home after a long day to find him in his underwear, focusing those blue eyes on hers while growling from deep in his throat, “On the bed.”

That had been all it’d taken for her to get on the bed, naked, waiting, willing. Sometimes it’d been hard and fast. Sometimes it’d been soft and slow. 

But the game had continued. 

Him lowering his voice. 

Her lowering her clothes. 

   


And then they’d drifted apart…

As Oliver looked around at the rookies he’d taken on to test and train, he spoke

   


And his eyes flew, to find Felicity standing against the railing, watching him. 

He paused for a second, their eyes connecting, a billion memories passing between them in that second. He knew exactly what he would find under the dress, especially after the way he’d spoken, and she knew that he knew. 

His gaze lingered on hers as the rookies tried to move past him. He shut them down, his eyes returning to hers again, and, knowing they weren’t together, knowing it all, he deliberately lowered his voice this time, and commanded

   


The exercise wasn’t a game. 

They were. 

_Lowered voices._

_Lingering gazes._

_Ignited memories._

It was a game. And he played to win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, check out my other stories if you liked this. :)
> 
> Come say Hi to me on
> 
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	27. Is It Real? (5x05 Balcony Scene)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The scene on the balcony in 5x05.

 

* * *

“Is it real?” he asked, his voice choking on an intake of breath before he steeled himself, his eyes on her blue ones, trying to understand what he’d been told. 

_Was it real?_

Had the fact that they’d been together, happy and in love, about to get married, been real?

Had his happiness been real? His ring on her finger? 

It all seemed like yesterday, yet so far away. 

All those countless mornings spent waking up tangled in her arms and going to sleep with her head on his chest, feeling that sense of peace that had been an illusion for him for so long - had it been real?

Those memories that haunted him when he lay staring at the foundry ceiling at night - were they real, or something his tortured mind had created to survive? 

The balcony he stood on, the very balcony he’d kissed her on once a lifetime ago, the balcony with a door that led to the first home he’d had in this city, with her - had it been real? 

She was trying to move on - he understood that. He accepted that. He’d always admired her ability to forge ahead. It had been his mistakes that had sent her running and she was still running while he’d been standing at one spot, waiting for her. 

Was it real? Was she really moving forward or just pretending to? Was she taking those steps away from him while still standing right beside him? Were the ghosts of happy memories shining her eyes real? Or was he only seeing what he wanted to see? 

With the way she looked at him sometimes when she thought he wasn’t aware, with the way she sometimes raised her hand to touch him before curling her fingers in, with the way her breath caught every time he came back from a dangerous mission, Oliver somehow could not find any congruence in what her lips told him and what her eyes did. 

_Which was real of the two?_

He didn’t even ask about the guy. Didn’t want to know. Because as much as he accepted her decision, it didn’t pain him any less. He could still see in his mind’s eye, the image of her kissing another man, and his blood didn’t boil any less than it had two years ago. 

His eyes flicked to her lips - lips he’d lost his rights to, lips he’d tasted every which way possible, lips that were kissing another man these days. 

But was it _real? Or was she pretending?_

Did she kiss him with her entire body like she’d done him? Did her arms grab onto his shoulders and fingers plunge into his hair? Did her hips move along with his while their tongues mated, like theirs had? Did she kiss him upside down like she’d loved to do with him, experiment? Did she remember his taste sometimes like he remembered hers?

He didn’t want it to be real. 

He wanted her to be happy, but not with another man, not when he was right there. He didn’t want her spending her nights with someone else, not if it could be something real and not a phase. 

Had the small moments these last few weeks, the ones he’d noticed but never commented on, been real? Those small touches and lingering looks and that passion he knew she kept quiet just under the surface? Had it been real?

He wanted it to be real.

Her eyes blinked up at him, the remorse in them evident, as was the battle she was waging inside herself. 

They’d always conversed in silence, saying things with their eyes and hands long before their lips had gotten involved. That silence told him something entirely different. 

His question hung in the air between them, along with so many things -unspoken but not unheard. 

_Was it real?_

_Was any of it real? Or just in his head?_

She took a deep breath and his heart stopped, waiting for her to tell him, to confirm or deny every which way his thoughts were racing, something he was certain she knew of, knowing him as well as she did. 

She took a deep breath, and spoke

 

Oliver had his answer. 

Thoughts, memories, dreams - all invaded him for a moment. He let them wash over him, let the physicality of his racing heart and sweaty palms and pounding blood ground him. He reveled in the reality of it, watching her face even as she gave him the words, her eyes, her face telling him of a different reality. 

She was as fighting. Inside. Outside. He didn’t know what she was fighting, but she was. 

And that told him everything he needed to know…

 

… it was real.

He just didn’t know which  _‘it’_ was that yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, check out my other stories if you liked this. :)
> 
> Come say Hi to me on
> 
> TUMBLR : [supersillyanddorky06.tumblr.com](http://supersillyanddorky06.tumblr.com/)  
> TWITTER : [@dorky06](http://twitter.com/Dorky06/)


	28. On Every Earth (5x08 Spec Fic)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5x08 speculation fic based on released photos.

 

* * *

 

He hadn’t seen her. 

Not the entire time he’d been in the perfect little version of what his life could’ve been without the island. Seeing his father and mother alive and happy, seeing Thea beautiful without the scars, seeing Sara smiling without the shadows on her soul and Laurel wearing his engagement ring, alive and happy, had been a bittersweet experience. 

God, how he’d wanted the innocence of it all. How his soul yearned for that bright happiness that just slipped from his fingers every time. 

Except he had it here. 

That was the only reason Oliver liked this place. The only reason he stood on the upper level in the mansion that had been his home for so long, watching the guests milling about, the ache in his heart profound because he could’ve had this all. 

And for a moment, he’d been swept by it all, the heart of the boy who’d lost everything craving this with a ferocity only he could understand. 

And then he’d seen her. 

With Palmer. Hand around his waist, face tilted up at him, wearing the same dress she’d been wearing when he’d seen them kiss years ago. He’d burnt that dress by _accident_ in his world. Complete accident that had somehow not happened in here. 

His breath caught, watching her. seeing her smile and laugh the way she’d smiled and laughed at him, and his heart closed, the ache there but bearable…

Until he saw her finger. 

With Palmer’s ring. 

It was in that moment, the moment the jewel winked at him in the light, that his chest closed in on itself, blood rushing to his ears.

 _No._  

This wasn’t right. 

None of it was right.

 _His ring._  

She’d accepted his ring so many times. Accepted his heart, his body, his soul into hers. Her finger was supposed to hold his ring. She was supposed to speak her vows to him and only him, and his vows had always been hers, his heart had always been hers. 

He’d been wrong in thinking that he could move on like she had told him to. She hadn’t wanted him to, and neither had he. 

Panic filled his system even as clarity intruded. 

Panic at even imagining her, any version of her anywhere in any reality, being permanently committed to someone else. 

Clarity at the realization of what he needed to do. 

He needed to tell the people he’d lost that he loved them, tell them goodbyes and heal their hearts. He needed to find himself some closure and become the man he wanted to be, the man she deserved. 

And that was when she looked up suddenly, as though feeling his stare, and their eyes locked. 

His heart stopped as he watched her blink, before her eyes flashed with heat, the same heat he remembered putting there so many times, the same heat that had warmed him on cold nights. 

And he felt it, even now. 

Oliver looked at her, and felt his lips curve in a smile as realization sunk deep into his bones. 

Because Felicity Smoak, no matter which reality she existed in, was his. 

And every part of him, every version of him, was hers.  

And he needed to go back.

To her.

 _His_ her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, check out my other stories if you liked this. :)
> 
> Come say Hi to me on
> 
> TUMBLR : [supersillyanddorky06.tumblr.com](http://supersillyanddorky06.tumblr.com/)  
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	29. Firsts (5x08 Flashback Spec Fic)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spec fic about those micro seconds of flashback in 5x08

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how this came about. I don't even know if it's actually a meta or a fic or something that's a cross in between.
> 
> Those flashbacks of micro seconds just gave me a lot of feels. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> You can find this on Tumblr [here](http://supersillyanddorky06.tumblr.com/post/153953375113/emmaamelia95-supersillyanddorky06-but-can-we). (This post is so close to 1k notes I'm screaming!)

**that first meeting**

** **

_(he’s been in the dark for so long it’s all he even knows anymore… he’s been living in this dull, focused work of black and white, knowing colors from afar but never really seeing them… and suddenly, there’s color everywhere, splashes, strokes, streaks of them… there’s something that just glows and he’s like a moth, stunned by the life in that flame… it’s the first time he remembers someone knowing he’s lying and calling him out on it in a manner that genuinely moves something inside him, makes his lips curve and before he knows it, he’s surprised himself by smiling back at this glowing life of color… the reason he’ll always remember it was red…)_

* * *

 

**that first date**

 

_(where he finally picked up the courage to ask her out. he’s never had trouble asking anyone for a date but with her it’s different, he’s different. and he remembers being such a nervous wreck, because he’s taking that first step towards happiness with the woman he knows he loves… and then he sees her and everything blanks for a moment. he’s never seen her look more beautiful than she does right in that moment, waiting for him with a nervous smile and soft eyes and just… waiting for him… and he just falls more in love with her, right there…)_

* * *

 

**that first kiss**

 

_(the first time he held her face in the palm of his hands, his lips against hers, breathing her in, knowing deep into his bones that there would never be another woman for him, not as long as he lived… he memorizes this moment, so completely that he can recall it as he feels himself dying on a cold mountain, or see it in a place of everything strange. this kiss became his homing beacon, in his own mind…)_

* * *

 

**that first time**

 

_(after he knew he had to stay behind and here was no changing anything, after she’d given him the greatest gift a woman could give a man - her heart, her body, her soul, after telling him he was beautiful and she was so proud of him in so many million ways, after months and months of loving her from afar, from knowing he would die and kill for her happiness, after months of being a man committed to a woman in his heart, his body, his soul, she opened her arms to him, she accepted him. he’ll never forget that night for as long as he’ll live, not only because they made love for hours, culminating the desire that had been simmering between them for years, but also because it had been a dying wish for him, a memory of beauty in a future of dark, a memory that would give him strength in the time to come, sustain him, inspire him, and make him go back to her…. for that night, he was just Oliver and she was just Felicity and they loved each other with everything inside them)_

* * *

 

**that first proposal to the woman he loved and almost truly losing her**

 

_(he’s held so many limp bodies in his life, more than any one man should, seen blood flow out of loved ones mouths as they’d taken that last breath in his embrace… he’s held her body so many times, in so many ways, in so many moments in his arms, with love and laughter and passion and intensity… he’s held her even when she’d been limp, when her head had lolled and he’d carried her to safety, feeling her breathe in his arms… but this was different… because they’d just been kissing, just been looking at the ring he’d finally placed on her finger after harboring it for months, just asked her for the commitment of a lifetime - body, heart, and soul - and she’d smiled and cried and clung to him and said yes… she’d just made him the happiest man on the face of the earth, the happiest he’d ever been in his life, the happiest he’d never thought he’d be… and it was gone… and he could feel it in his bones… this was bad… he was losing her, in perhaps more ways than one… she wasn’t waking up and she was hit and he knew what a straight bullet to the back could do and he was panicking because no, god no, not her… not like this… not with blood coating the ring on her finger…)_

* * *

 

**that first time he married her**

 

_(he’s married her in his heart a hundred times already - with his eyes, his hands, his mouth, every part of his flesh and every part of his being… he’s married her in every way a man can marry a woman in his heart, his everything hers, he hers, for better or worse, for life… he’s been working on his vows for months now, and the moment he has her here, he knows he screwed up, and he knows she still loves him, and he knows this won’t forgive or win her back but he needs her to know, he needs to do this for himself, because baring his soul to her had always been simple, baring his heart to her, telling her she’s his always and he just wishes to be hers, sliding that ring on her finger, even for a few moments, in his heart they’re married right then - even if she’s hurt, even if he’s messed up, even if it’s all fake… for him, it’s never been more real, in the same venue he couldn’t bring himself to cancel and the same dress she was going to wear… in this moment, he’s married her… for the first time…)_

* * *

 

Nothing screams ENDGAME like a man who’s forgotten everything, lost in his own mind, and finds himself guided back home by the sheer memories of the woman he loves. He leaves his perfect life behind to go back, in part, to be with her, where he knows he can speak her name the way he does and her eyes would soften in the way they do.

Felicity Smoak is Oliver Queen’s **_always._  **

And this episode proved than _a million times._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, check out my other stories if you liked this. :)
> 
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	30. Old Oliver seeing Old Felicity (Based on Legends of Tomorrow 1x06)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was archiving some old posts on Tumblr and came across this and realized I hadn't posted it here. It's just a ficlet of sorts that's very late to the party.

 

* * *

 

Just imagine for one moment, Oliver seeing Felicity at this point. He’s not seen her in YEARS. Lifetimes. She’s older and wears brown clothes and nude lipsticks. He knows she lost her penchant for colors after they… he doesn’t want to think of it.

He’s in the building, watching her murmuring to his old picture. He doesn’t know why she even has it. But she’s looking at his picture and talking to him, and suddenly he’s not there. Suddenly, he’s behind a pillar at Queen Consolidated while she talks to his picture, watching her from behind the glass, smiling his first smile in years.

He’s not smiling now. He’s looking at her, at the gray in her hair and the small wrinkles at the corner of her eyes. Everything inside his chest is tight and suddenly the air is locking in his throat. He’s never seen her look as beautiful as she does in that moment, after decades. But there’s such timelessness to her. Where he should have been dead ages ago, she’s still holding life to her skin.

He should’ve been smiling. That’s what he’d always done watching her. But for the first time in years, he lets his lips tremble. He lets the tears in his eyes flow into his beard. He lets the sting in his eyes and the pain in his heart exist.

Because for the first time, just watching her from behind that window, he’s just Oliver. And she’s just Felicity.

Just Felicity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, check out my other stories if you liked this. :)
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	31. Simmer (5x20 Spec Ficlet)

 

* * *

 

It had been simmering between them for a long time.

They had become accustomed to it. After all, the simmer had sustained itself for years. It had survived every single brush of arms, every single innocent touch, every single look that had toed the line between platonic and more. They had survived years of watching the other silently, gazing at the flesh unseen to the eye, staring at the skin exposed. They had survived years of unspoken words and loaded silences.

They had _survived._

And it had just simmered between them, finally coming to a boil after _years._

Their mistake though had been in thinking it could be put to simmer again for that long. Their mistake had been in believing that consummating that fire with someone else would extinguish this flame between them.

Their mistake had been to simply think, for even a second, that breathing hour after hour in the presence of the other won’t fan those flames.

Because while earlier they had never crossed a line, now it wasn’t possible. It wasn’t possible for him to not see her hair and remember how it looked on his pillows. It wasn’t possible for him to hear her talk and remember how she’d murmured words of love and lust in his ear in the dark of the night. It wasn’t possible for him to draw in a breath with her scent and remember her taste on his tongue.

No. Not for him. And he knew it wasn’t possible for her either. Not when he caught her looking at his arms sometimes like she wanted them holding her, keeping her safe and warm against him. Not when he heard her breath catch sometimes when he walked in a little too close, her nostrils flaring as she took in his scent - a scent she’d told him she loved to drown in. 

It _just wasn’t possible_ for them not to be triggered, not to be assaulted by the beautiful, heart-wrenching memories they’d made.

_Scent. Sight. Sound. Sensation._

Skin on skin. Flesh on flesh.

Of hands pulling on hair and lips biting into muscle.

Of tongues mating and teeth claiming.

Of harsh breaths and soft sighs.

Of loud screams and deep growls.

Of _him._  

Of _her._

Oliver stood quietly, his body humming with the rage, the guilt, the pain he was trying to suppress. He watched her as she sat in her chair, keeping her head low, trying to ignore him.

But she couldn’t. Not when her breaths were quickening, her breasts rising and falling rapidly, her spine straight and skin flushed.

Oliver knew _exactly_ how she looked underneath that dress. He knew _exactly_ what color she would be wearing under her clothes, how her skin would heat under his gaze, how she’d close her eyes and lean back to let him devour her smooth skin.

She was trying to ignore him.

He was done being ignored.

With a push, he started towards her.

Her eyes flew up to his.

And what had been simmering between them for so long _flared into life._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, check out my other stories if you liked this. :)
> 
> Come say Hi to me on
> 
> TUMBLR : [supersillyanddorky06.tumblr.com](http://supersillyanddorky06.tumblr.com/)  
> TWITTER : [@dorky06](http://twitter.com/Dorky06/)


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